


To Instagram, Thanks For Everything!

by Fatebegins



Series: Social Media [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, High School Student Derek, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: Stiles accidentally likes a picture on Derek's Instagram from 79 weeks ago.His life is over...or maybe, it's just beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. Happy New Year to you all. I'm posting all my Works in Progress on Archive because, my computer keeps betraying my trust and deleting my stories! My Flashdrive even betrayed me...so at this point i'm sick of losing stuff I've written.
> 
> THESE ARE ALL WORKS IN PROGRESS WITH NO GUARANTEE OF A CONCLUSION. So, keep that in mind before you drop crazy comments into my tumblr about me being a bitch and selfish and all that good stuff. If you want a definitive end, then don't read until its all posted, and i say that as nicely as i can through text.
> 
> For those who have asked, I am doing so well these past few months, you guys wouldn't believe. Much of my anxiety has receded, i have flare ups but i completed my finals without panic attacks and have leveled out with medication. The power of science! and reading mpreg lol.
> 
> I wish you all happiness, love and health in 2018!
> 
> love, Claudia.
> 
> ETA: Yes, the Title is a homage to the classic Patrick Swayze movie: "To Wong Fu, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar" I love that movie and Swayze like nobody's business.
> 
> ETA 2: This story was born from a deep desire to write a HS AU in TW where Stiles was the one who wants to keep their relationship a secret.

 

It’s all Derek Hale’s fault.

 

It’s Friday night and Stiles is having the most shameful jerk off session of his life because stupidly perfect, and stupidly _dumb asshole_ , Derek Hale has decided to make his Instagram public in what can only be rare display of benevolence to the unwashed masses.

 

Ironically, Scott probably thought he was helping when he texted Stiles an hour ago, ranting about how Derek was a superficial, space cadet who thought he was above everyone else because he could run from one end of the football field to the other.

 

His Instagram proved it. 

 

The name alone: CaptD_Hale.

 

The nerve.

 

The fucking nerve.

 

Of course, Stiles replied to Scott’s text with all the fury of a loyal bestfriend who is aware of Scott’s burning hate for Derek Hale, his family and all he stands for.  He agreed with how shallow Derek is, how fucking contrived and full of shit.  How he walks through the halls with his nose in the air and wears ridiculous gazillion dollar loafers like some asshole prep in an eighties movie. And so on. He had done good. Scott was appeased, went off on his blind date a little less pissed off and Stiles was a good friend, _is_ a great best friend. Until he decided to do some harmless, innocent follow up.

 

In the name of research.

 

In the name of friendship!

 

Yeah, that sentiment became unjustifiable one orgasm ago.

 

Derek Hale’s Instagram, while disgusting and cocky and alpha, manufactured bullshit, is also the single hottest thing online. And _porn_ is online. Stiles is willingly bypassing pornhub and power tops ramming tattooed omega twinks to scroll through an unreal timeline of Derek shirtless, laughing, pouting over ice cream and working out in grey muscle shirts. Even the few pictures of Derek’s asshole boyfriend Kent Barnes don’t dull his ardor.

 

Swim trunks should not be that tight, black and clingy.

 

Stiles has fallen down a wormhole and somewhere between thumbing through pictures of Derek at Lydia’s birthday party, he’s gotten his jeans undone and is fisting his dick twice before coming all over his fingers.

 

It’s the best orgasm of Stiles’ life.

 

There’s something about the way black looks on Derek, the way the cashmere of his sweater stretches across his broad chest and muscles. Stiles would bet his entire Star Wars limited edition blue ray collection that Derek is the kind of alpha who would hold him down and make him take every single inch and, judging from the swim trunk pic, that would be a whole lot of cock.

 

Stiles shudders hungrily at the thought of having sex with Derek, half excitement and half shame because he’s jerking off to the guy who not only ruined his best friend’s life but has tormented him since ninth grade. 

 

But then the next picture is Derek standing next to his sister, Laura, at her wedding a year and a half ago, and he’s wearing a _tuxedo_. A fucking black tux and his hair is all Cary Grant _a la_ The Bishop’s Wife-- Stiles tells himself one more tug won’t hurt. He’s already gone this far. Can’t betray Scott’s friendship twice, right?

 

Scrambling to get his jeans off completely-- it’s his final time, okay? better to be comfortable-- Stiles decides he needs more than just jerkin’ off. His dad is working overnight, and he has a brand new fucking bottle of lube just begging to be used.  The good, expensive kind. It’s not often Stiles uses his heat dildo outside of heat but if anything, this is a special occasion.

 

Stiles sets his phone down next to him, wriggling a bit to hurry the process of getting his pants off before reaching under his bed to grab the shoebox where he keeps supplies. He gets comfortable, pulling lazily on his cock for a few seconds, letting anticipation tingle up his spine.

 

Fucking Derek Hale. He was such a bastard today too, shoulder checking Scott on the way into the lunchroom, smirking when Scott’s lunch tray and tacos fell to the floor. Before Stiles could react, Scott was pushing into Derek’s space, shouting. The fight never happened. Mr. Bullock piercing them both with a warning glare. And even then, even when Derek was being an absolute asshole, he still managed to look hot.

 

Shut up, brain.

 

The more he thinks about Derek Hale as a person, the less appealing this is. Because Derek’s personality is nothing attractive.

 

Better to not waste the opportunity, Stiles grabs his cell phone. He looks down at the profile of Derek’s face in the tux picture, the sharp line of his clean-shaven jaw. There’s a difference in him, he’s barely smiling but he looks… different from all the other photos.  There’s a tenderness in his eyes that Stiles has never seen, doubts few have, and Laura is looking up at him with a smile that lights up the room. The photo is captioned, _wishing you the love and happiness you always gave to me._

Okay, that’s sappy and weird.

Time to get back to the swimming briefs pic.

 

Stiles picks up the phone awkwardly, not wanting to get lube on it and then _it_ happens.

 

The end of the world.

 

The worst possible thing.

 

Stiles accidentally liked the picture.

 

A picture from 79 weeks ago.

 

Seventy fucking nine weeks.

 

His life is over.

 

**___________________**

 

“Staying in tonight?”

 

Derek doesn’t look up from his laptop when Laura ruffles his hair. He’d planned on a quiet weekend, had blown off plans for Jackson’s party in favor of trying to get his writing assignment done.

 

Laura plops down next to him on the couch. “You have no life.”

 

“I don’t remember giving you a key.” Derek gives her an assessing look, “What do you want?”

 

“I’m bored, we should go get dinner or go to a club or something.”

 

“Where do you plan on hiding my niece?”

 

“Pregnant doesn’t mean dead. Let’s go to _The Jungle_ , watch your loyal subjects swarm around you.”

 

“I’m not going clubbing with an eight-month pregnant lady.”

 

“Harsh.”

 

“Where’s Evan?’

 

“Business trip.” Laura sighs, blowing her bangs off her forehead. “Doctor says I can’t fly.”

 

Derek looks at her. She looks tired beneath all the eagerness, dark circles under her eyes. “You can hang out here if you want, I’ve got pizza and beer. I’ll drink the beer.”

 

Without responding, Laura wanders into the kitchen, ripping open a bag of chips with some disgust. “Ugh, veggie chips, Derek, why? Just why?”

 

“I’ve got Lays, too.”

 

“Fucking _baked_ Lays, taste like shit. Even worse than veggie crisps.”

 

“Spoken with all the true sophistication of a senator’s wife.”

 

“Where’s Kent? He’s not plastered to you tonight?”

 

“We broke up.”

 

“Good riddance.” She doesn’t even pretend to be sorry. There was no love lost between the two of them. “Where’s Cora?”

 

“Out.”

 

“But _where_?”

 

“She’s not going to want you tagging along.”

 

“I’ll put the pizza in the oven.”

 

Derek smiles as he listens to her rustle around. It reminds him of before she got married. When their birth father passed, Laura had to grow up quickly; taking charge of Derek and Cora while his Dad gallivanted across the globe.  Derek remembers a shit ton of nights like this, Laura cooking for them even though they had the money for staff while he and Cora waited in the living room doing homework. She was a beta but had the nurturing of an omega, likely channeling their omega father’s qualities. She made sure they didn’t forget him.

 

“Derek!” Laura shouts in disgust. “Thin crust mushroom and brie?! That is _not_ pizza! Where did I go wrong with you? I fed you bagel bites half of your life and this is the shit you pull?”

 

Midway through editing his paper, his phone lights up with a notification. He gives it a cursory glance, expecting a text from one of the guys demanding he get shitfaced.

 

It’s not.

 

Instagram: ErmagerdSti liked your photo.

 

Derek doesn’t recognize the name, but that’s not unusual. He has a lot of friends on Instagram. Strangers request to follow him and it’s weird but whatever, right? Lydia says it’s good marketing. She’s the one who made his page public. Thanks to her, Derek’s been getting notifications from weirdos all day.  And some _interesting_ DMs from knot hungry omegas and suggestive betas. Even an alpha or two.

 

Unlocking his phone, Derek rolls his eyes, some creep liked a picture from over a year ago. The guy had to have been doing some deep lurking.

 

Motivated by curiosity, Derek clicks on the account to see what kind of freak was perving. The page is mostly pictures of cakes with inappropriate things written on them sloppily in frosting. When it’s not cake, there’s photos of a bedraggled miniature schnauzer. The dog is familiar, and Derek’s pulse kicks up a notch.

 

It’s the third row of pictures that confirms it. The photo is of two guys, arms slung around each other while they throw up idiotic gang signs. Derek knows them; he goes to school with them. Scott McCall is hard to miss, the second- rate alpha has been a pain in the ass for as long as Derek can remember. Kid has a chip on his shoulder.  And Stilinkski, while not as obnoxious as McCall, stands out. To him at least. The smart mouthed omega always has.

 

With Derek’s luck, it’ll be Scott fucking with him.

 

The thought is disproved almost as soon as it comes into his head.

 

The caption reads: Scott says I’m hardcore.

 

 _Scott_ says.

 

ErmagerdSti is Oh my God _Stiles_.

 

Stiles fucking Stilinkski liked a picture on his account from over seventy-nine weeks ago. Derek stares down at the picture of Stiles’ smiling face for a long moment.

 

“What are you smiling about?” Laura demands, sitting down next to him. “Are you watching cat videos again?”

 

“Nothing.” Derek ducks his face and hides his grin. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

**___________________**

 

Stiles is freaking out, like panic level freaking out by Monday.

 

There’s no way to explain what he did. He’d thought about un-liking the picture, but he knows from experience that the notification has already been sent to Derek. It would be incriminating to un-like it. Better to play it smart and pretend that liking the picture was purposeful, or something.

 

Or something.

 

Shit. Stiles is so, so screwed.

 

“We should go to McD’s.” Scott suggests when he climbs into Stiles’ jeep. “Craving hot cakes.”

 

“Sure.” Stiles agrees absently, imagining the horror that is most likely awaiting him. He knows he must be emitting apprehension, but Scott’s always been oblivious.

 

Derek probably told people, told his mini-pack clique, told _Lydia_ fucking _Martin_. And oh god, Jackson or worse Kyle, who only required the slightest provocation to punch him in the face. They’re all going to be waiting for him on the steps of BHS like a B-list high school movie, and they’re going to call him Sunshine trash and nerd and ….and, everything that mean kid Steff called Andie in _Pretty in Pink_.

 

“Dude.” Scott stops midway through the chorus of a song. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, w-why?”

 

“Because you’re driving on the sidewalk.”

 

“Shit!” Stiles hurriedly stops the drifting, jerking the wheel to the left. “ _Shit_. Sorry. _Shit_.”

 

“Something on your mind?”

 

“Just thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

Stiles goes for a half truth. “Why do none of these fucking anti-bullying ads work? Kids get bullied, like, even more! Anti-bullying is the new bullying catnip.”

 

Scott laughs hesitantly. “Okay.”

 

“No, seriously.” Stiles is on a roll, panic fueling him. “Like…like Douchebag Hale, right?! He’s _constantly_ on your case, right? Like it’s not enough that he has fucking _everything_ , that he’s rich and alpha and his family _stole your Dad’s_ _practice_ , but he won’t let us have like peace of mind and --”

 

“Tell me about it.” Scott interjects, and Stiles isn’t surprised because this is Scott’s favorite topic. “Jerks like him make me sick, but don’t stress, they’ll get what they deserve in the end.”

 

Stiles is the one who is most likely going to a beat down at school.

 

“Did you look at his Instagram?”

 

“Not really.” Stiles lies.

 

“There’s a picture from his eighteenth birthday, remember that?”

 

Of course, Stiles does, it was all everyone talked about for _weeks._

 

“It was on a yacht, bro, a fucking yacht.” Scott snorts in disgust. “He’s on a yacht in the French Riviera and my mom is working graveyard shifts at the hospital to keep the lights on.”

 

Stiles remembers that photo; clingy, black swim trunks.

 

“I can’t wait until we’re out of high school.” Stiles exclaims, stomach in knots. “I’m ready for the real world. All those pricks peaked in high school and they don’t even know it.”

 

“Hale graduates this year, once he’s gone, school won’t be so bad.” Scott’s living on Planet Denial. “Senior year will be our year.”

 

**___________________**

 

Turns out Stiles was shitting his pants for nothing. There’s no lynch mob waiting for him in the parking lot, no one acts any different. Miracle of all miracles, Stiles sees Derek just once outside of class at gym. He’s in the weight room, spotting Vernon Boyd and his eyes skip right over him; like Stiles doesn’t even exist.

 

The relief is heady.

 

He’s invisible, like always.

**___________________**

 

 

Sherlock is waiting at the door when Stiles lets himself in after school, tongue lolling out. The dog gives an excited bark, weaving between Stiles’ legs.

 

“Shit.” Stiles looks past him. “Did Dad not fill your bowl before he left?”

 

The water bowl is half empty and dry dog food litters the floor.  The bottom cabinet is ajar and the _Pedigree_ bag tipped over to the floor. The damn dog strikes again.

 

“Great.” Stiles gets a broom to clean up the mess. “I keep telling him that you’re a little shit and to close the cabinets.”

 

There’s not much to eat in the fridge and Stiles makes a mental note to go to the grocery store after his shift tomorrow. He heats up a sad, hot pocket for himself and warms up leftover chuck steak for Sherlock.

 

Stiles shoots Scott a quick text while eating stale cookies in front of the microwave.

 

Stiles: Deadpool, redux at 6?

 

When he’s finished eating, he grabs Sherlock’s leash and his phone vibrates.

 

Stiles expects a reply from Scott and gets the shock of his life.

 

CaptD_Hale has liked 2 of your pictures.

 

What the fuck.

                               

Derek liked two of the very first pictures he posted to Instagram.

 

From **102** weeks ago.

 

**___________________**

 

Derek stares at the back of Stiles head while Mr. Pewter drones on about some literary theory they’re going to have to do a project on. He’s been watching him for most AP Grammar and Mechanics, not hearing a word of the lesson.

 

Stiles looked his way once, promptly turned bright red and fixed his eyes pointedly at his notebook. He hasn’t looked up since.

 

It’s cute.

 

Derek is hypnotized by the way the blush highlights the omega’s moles. His hair is growing out of the usual buzzcut, long enough to be falling over his forehead some and brushing his green collar. He hopes he doesn’t cut it. Stiles’ scent has always been alluring to him, rich and sweet, like fresh baked banana bread. It’s comforting and exciting at the same time.

 

The bell rings. Stiles sets a record for packing up, he’s nearly out the door before Derek can get to him.  Fortunately for Derek, Amy Wu and Molly Snyder are slow strolling and block him in.

 

“Hey.” Derek grabs his wrist. “Got a second?”

 

Stiles stares back at him, amber eyes wide and nervous.  He has thick lashes, mouth pink and so soft looking. Derek can feel his pulse quicken beneath his fingertips. His scent intensifies. It’s insanely hot.

 

“W-what do you want?”

 

Not the best start.

 

Derek falters. “Your notes.”

 

“Notes?”

 

“I spaced out. Can I copy your notes for today’s class?”

 

Stiles wants to say no, Derek can see it, but he nods, and hands his worn notebook over.

 

Derek smiles, making sure to hold eye contact. “Thanks.”

 

Before he can say anymore, Scott manifests out of nowhere like the demon he is and drags Stiles away screeching about lunch while glaring at Derek over his shoulder.

 

By way of conversation, it isn’t much, but Derek at least has an excuse to talk to Stiles again when he gives the notebook back.  Preferably without his asshole sidekick interfering.

 

Later, when Derek’s in bed, he opens the notebook to copy anything he’s missed. Stiles’ handwriting is nearly impossible to read. Chicken scratch. But he dots his ‘I’s with little o’s. Adorable. He flips through the rest of the pages curiously and get the surprise of his life.

 

The back pages aren’t filled with notes, they’re covered in sketches; decent ones.  They’re mostly of Stiles’ odd little group of friends, several of Scott that make Derek irrationally jealous.

 

But on the final page: jackpot.

 

It’s corny but his stomach does a little flip.

 

At the top: it’s him, drawn in shadows and smooth charcoal lines. The way Stiles has captured him, head bent and expression uncertain, makes Derek feel like he’s intruding on an intimate moment. It’s innocent.

 

Derek traces his own likeness with his fingertip, wondering.

 

There must be more to it, you don’t like an Instagram picture from a year ago and you don’t draw someone _like that_ for no reason.

 

The next picture makes Derek’s cheeks burn and his dick swell in his sweat pants. He didn’t know Stiles had it in him.

 

**___________________**

“It should be really chill.” Cora speaks loudly, making sure every Were and human in the courtyard can hear. “Just a few friends to kick off the new school year and my birthday, duh. My Dad is getting a DJ and everything. He’s away on a business trip but his liquor cabinet is unlocked.”

 

Several students stare wistfully in her direction, particularly those who aren’t part of the ‘few friends’ invited.

 

“I hear there’s going to be celebrities there!” Kira whispers excitedly, ponytail bobbing up and down like a cartoon character. “Like Katy Perry is going to do a song.”

 

“Bull shit.” Scott says.

 

“No, it’s true! Her Dad knows her agent! That’s how Cora got to go to the VMAs that one time.”

 

Scott scowls. “Who cares, not like the ice princess is inviting you.”

 

Harsh.

 

Kira kicks him. “Don’t be a dick!”

 

“Ouch! I’m just being honest.”

 

“Cora is such a bitch.” Kira sighs wistfully over her half-eaten cup of blueberry yogurt. “But I love Katy Perry.”

 

Stiles focuses on unpeeling his cherry fruit roll-up. Cora Hale is mean spirited on her best day. They were in the same class fifth grade and she handed out her sparkly-pink, singing birthday invitations to every kid but him, Scott and Erica.

 

There’s a stark divide at BHS. There are the kids who live outside of town, in the big mansions set on hills with paved driveways and manicured lawns. And then there are the kids of the people who mow those lawns. Those kids mostly live in a cluster of tract houses and trailers, lawns made of crabgrass and gravel off the highway behind Sunshine Gas Station.

 

Sunshine Way.

 

The irony.

 

While Weres like Cora occupy their time with dress fittings, party planning and being general bitches, Stiles worries if they’ll have to forego paying the electric bill this month, so they can afford his father’s blood pressure medication. Or if he’ll get enough overtime at the bakery to cover the co-pay.

Stiles jumps in surprise when his notebook lands in front of him. He drops his fruit roll up.

 

“Hey.”

 

Derek is across the table, bright red and white varsity jacket stretched across his broad, muscled shoulders.  Beneath that is a white v-neck, collar deep enough to show the dog tags he always wears. It’s 85 degrees out. He has a tentative smile that partially reveals a dimple and Stiles is _shook_.

 

What omega can resist that kind of alpha magnetism?

 

“Thanks for letting me borrow your notes.”

 

“You _let_ him copy your homework?” Scott sputters indignantly beside him. He’s already halfway out of his seat. “ _Stiles_!”

 

“I copied his _notes_ , McCall.” Derek’s entire demeanor changes, the smile is decidedly hostile. “ _Relax_.”

 

“No problem.” Stiles quickly interrupts, shoving the notebook into his backpack. “Bye.”

 

“I enjoyed your twist on _Plato’s Symposium_.”

 

“What?”

 

“The conclusions you _drew_ based on Aristophanes’ speech.”

 

Derek looks like he’s going to say more, and that’s when Stiles remembers.

 

The sketches.

 

Oh God.

 

The sketches.

 

“I…Ok.” Stiles can feel his face heating up and his heart pounds. Is Derek going to laugh at him? Get Kyle or one of his fan club to punch him to a bloody pulp while everyone watches? “I…I c-can explain.”

 

In Stiles’ defense, he’d been bored and horny. That is not a great combination for middle of the school day. So, while Mr. Pewter lectured, he let his mind wander, and lo and behold, his mind sketched Derek jacking off in a toga while surrounded by a group of those of the original human nature.

 

“No need.” Derek smiles again, and stubble should not be able to exist like that on an alpha in high school. “I enjoyed them. _Thoroughly_. Thanks again.”

 

Huh.

 

Dumbstruck, Stiles watches Derek saunter away to the cluster of picnic tables where his sister sits, Cora’s mouth is curled in distaste because she’s seen where he walked over from. Derek tugs her ponytail playfully and Cora swats at his hands, her perpetual scowl melting away. She almost looks human.

 

“What was that all about?” Kira nudges him, eyes bright. “Stiles! Derek Hale just _talked_ to you.”

 

Scott is fuming.

**___________________**

“Did you hear from Dad?” Cora asks hopefully and Derek grimaces. “What?”

 

“He won’t be able to make it, Cor. Sorry.”

 

She looks away abruptly. “That’s fine.”

 

Derek can see that it hurts her. He wonders when she’ll get to the age when she won’t care anymore. Father will only let her down if she keeps expecting more than just a check from him every month.

 

“What were you doing talking to tweedle-dee?”

 

“ _Stiles_ lent me his notes.”

 

Cora raises a brow. “Really? _You_ didn’t take notes?”

 

“He did me a favor.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Cora.”

 

She shrugs. “Hey, I get it, you want to slum it. I know the Kent situation was rough.”

 

Derek never bought into the idea that belittling others made you more important but since her entry into BHS, Cora’s embraced the superiority complex hard. He guesses she needs something to build up what their father tears down.

 

“You shouldn’t say shit like that, makes you sound like an idiot.”

 

“Whatever.” Cora gathers her bag and walks off. She calls over her shoulder, loudly. “Wear a rubber.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a la "Bring it On."

Stiles cannot believe what he’s seeing. He drops his mug of coffee on the porch ledge, jumping the stairs. Scott is slinging buckets of mud all over his pristine baby, splattering her baby blues sides in inches of dirt and debris.

 

“Scott, alpha or not, I’m going to kill you!”

 

His best friend grins. “Relax.”

 

“You…” Stiles gestures emphatically. “My fucking car, Scott! _My car_!”

 

“BHS Football is holding a charity car wash today.” Scott’s grin widens, and he waggles his brows like a villain in a movie. “Donations only.”

 

Stiles groans. “So, you’re going to--”

 

“We’re going to bring her on by and we’ll see how generous I’m feeling donation wise.”

 

**___________________**

 

The look on Derek’s face when Scott drives the disgusting jeep into the school parking lot is comical. He’s standing by the curb in tight Levi’s and a sleeveless, white tank, mirrored sunglasses on, clearly not having done shit all day but tan.  And damn, that tan makes Stiles fantasize about licking every exposed inch of hard muscle. 

 

Scott honks the horn twice. “Got one for you, Hale!”

 

Jackson looks like a cartoon character, eyes bugged out and mouth wide open.

 

“McCall.” Derek growls, stomping over and the betas follow. “You little shit.”

 

Scott smiles and holds out Stiles keys, dangling them in front of his face.  “Full service. Thanks.”

 

Derek clenches his teeth. “Fuck off.”

 

Scott tsks and inclines his head towards the coach who is occupied unloading a case of gatorade. “Now, is that any way to talk to a customer?”

 

Derek takes off the glasses and Stiles feels those treacherous butterflies make a reappearance.

 

“This your car?”

 

The question is directed to Stiles.

 

“Uhm, my pride and joy.”

 

“It’s a piece of shit.” Jackson sneers, puffing out his chest. He drives a Porsche. Jackson smacks the keys out of Scott’s hands. “This is a car wash, not a toilet. We’re not polishing your turd.”

 

“Hey!” Stiles says affronted at the same time Scott shoves the jock back. That escalated quickly. “My car is a classic.”

 

“Watch your –”

 

“We’ll wash your car.” Derek cuts off whatever maniacal speech Jackson planned. He plants a firm hand on Jackson’s chest, keeping him at bay. “Donation.”

 

Scott sneers, slowly opening his wallet to select a quarter.

 

Stiles wishes the earth would open and just swallow him up already.

 

Derek blows out a disbelieving breath, but he takes the quarter anyway. “Right, of course.”

 

“Guess that’s really all Sunshine trash can afford.” Kyle mutters snidely.

 

The other guys start laughing and Scott’s face looks like a thunderstorm. He knows Scott well enough to see that the barb hit its mark. This is what gets him. Stiles has nothing to be ashamed of, his Dad works hard as a security guard. He may not have much, but he has enough, yet here he is, feeling the same shame. He hates that people like Kyle and Jackson can make him feel embarrassed by every scuff on his sneakers.

 

“Get started, Kyle. Now.” Derek picks up the keys from the ground, and the laughter stops. “I’ll get the hose.”

 

**___________________**

 

 

Stiles jogs into the locker room, dumping the equipment room key on Coach Finstock’s desk when he passes the empty office. If extra curriculars weren’t so good for his college applications, he would quit the Lacrosse team in a heartbeat. He rides the bench every game, is forced to run all the drills and then gets stuck picking up after all the assholes.

 

Sweaty and tired, Stiles gets undressed quickly, wanting nothing more to shower and get home. The sound of running water reaches him and Stiles realizes too late he’s not alone. He grabs a towel, because he’s self-conscious of his skinny body and partly because he may need to make a quick escape if it’s Kyle waiting to pummel him for the carwash stunt.

 

Because the universe hates him, Derek steps out from the shower stall, steam billowing out behind him like something out of a romance novel.

 

Derek’s green eyes land on him and stay there.

 

No mere mortal can resist a wet and dripping Derek. Stiles gapes. The white towel is stark against Derek’s tan skin, slung low over lean hips and accentuating the taut v of his muscles where it tapers off to the obvious bulge.

 

“You’re staring.”

 

Stiles sucks in a breath, dropping his eyes hurriedly. “Sorry.”

 

“You’re always looking at me.”

 

“Am not.” The denial sticks in Stiles’ throat. “And even if I am, it’s not…”

 

“It’s not, what?” Derek mocks softly. He doesn’t move to get dressed and he’s blocking the way to the showers. “You think I’m good lookin?”

 

Uncomfortable, Stiles turns his head away from the alpha, realizing belatedly that the showing of his neck is suggestive. “Fuck off.”

 

There’s something in Derek’s eyes, dark heat that makes Stiles’ stomach tighten with arousal. Derek smells like wet earth, pine and spearmint.  It’s heavy and rich, darker than usual because the showers rinsed away the scent blockers all Weres are required to apply in school.

 

Stiles realizes with a jolt that Derek is aroused. The omega in him preens and simultaneously yearns to submit.

 

He licks his lips reflexively.

 

Derek tracks the movement of his tongue. “I don’t think you want me to.”

 

All Stiles knows is that this isn’t happening, and if it is, it’s not real.  There’s no way Derek would want him. Ever. In any universe.  But Derek’s eyes right now say different, he’s looking at Stiles the way Sherlock looks at steak bits.  That’s _lust_. Stiles looks back, tries to work up the courage to do something –anything-- when Derek moves forward.

 

“Stiles. I really liked your notes.”

 

“I may…” Stiles make your brain work, damn it. “I have to…”  But nothing is computing because now he can see the proof. Derek is hard. _Stiles_ made Derek Hale hard.  He should write _that_ in on his college applications.

 

His mouth is watering just thinking about getting his lips around…

 

“Look at me.” Derek takes one of his flailing hands, brings it to his bare chest. His skin is warm and supple beneath Stiles fingers, firm and achingly real. “Stiles.”

 

“Uh…”  Stiles finally lifts his eyes. He’s not the most experienced omega in the room, but he’s not a pussy.  This, this could be sex, hot sex, and he wants it so bad.  “Umm… You want a hand?”

 

One dark brow raises sharply in surprise.

 

Derek’s silent long enough for Stiles to start doubting himself. He feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment and imagines jumping right out the window. He waits for Derek to punch him. Laugh at him.

 

Derek drops the towel.

 

Just whips it out.

 

Whoa.

 

This is unlike anything Stiles has ever imagined, because even Derek’s cock is pretty. It’s thick and long, beautifully curved and flushed red. Stiles wants that, in his hands, in his mouth, his ass, anywhere.

 

As Stiles watches, Derek fists himself to complete hardness, pre-come beading at the tip of his cock.

 

"Well?" Derek prompts, and Stiles snaps out of his daze.

 

Yeah. Okay. He can do this. Stiles moves to get on his knees, but Derek catches him, one big hand cupping his cheek. He tilts Stiles face up to meet his eyes, thumb stroking over Stiles’ jaw . Neither move, sharing short breaths between them then Derek presses his lips to his in a barely-there kiss.

 

It’s over before Stiles can react. Derek leans against the lockers, legs hips width apart; a cue for Stiles to get on with it. He wets his lips and kneels. He’s about to suck Derek Hale off. _Pornhub technique don’t fail me now_. Trying to not look as awkward and inexperienced as he feels, Stiles leans forward to lap at the spongy head, licking the pre-come.

 

Above him, Derek shudders, a hand going to the back of Stiles’ head. Emboldened, Stiles opens his mouth wider, drawing him deeper to slowly suck. Once he’s about halfway down, Stiles pulls off to tongue at the leaking slit before sucking harder and getting into a rhythm.  Derek groans softly and Stiles moans in response because _he’s actually doing this_. This time he swallows Derek down nearly to the base, until he can feel the coarse black hairs around his mouth and nose. He circles Derek’s knot with his hand and squeezes experimentally, pulling a harsh sound from Derek. Stiles chances a look up, and nearly comes.

 

Derek’s staring down at him, eyes bright and lust-blown, bottom lip snagged between his teeth. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s a god, and it makes him feel drunk and powerful.

 

Neither of them look away.

 

“Stiles.” Derek slurs, tracing the outline of his dick through his cheek. “God, you…fuck.”

 

The longer Stiles sucks, the more broken pleas fall from Derek’s lips. Every deep moan is his reward, and Stiles has always been the kid who collected gold stars. So, he learns what Derek likes, listens to every sharp intake of breath and makes sure to memorize what caused it--a scrape of his teeth, a tug on his balls-- and does it again. And _again_.

 

“Are you close?” Stiles kisses the wet shaft, letting his hand take over. “Gonna come?”

 

“Yeah.” Derek groans, pulling Stiles forward, cock seeking entry into his mouth once more.  “ _Don’t stop_.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth, jaw slack, giving Derek the permission he’s seeking. There’s not even a hint of hesitation. Derek shoves forward, hips pumping, and Stiles fights the reflex to gag, choking. It’s the hottest thing ever. Derek’s movements stutter, and Stiles feels him swell against his tongue.  He tries to swallow, but he’s gagging instead, coughing as Derek apologizes.

 

“Fuck, sorry!”

 

“Asshole.” Stiles wipes his arm over his face, tasting the bittersweet salt of Derek’s come. He coughs again. “Polite to ask, you know.”

 

“Thought you would be able to swallow, s’not that hard.”

 

Stiles glares up at him. “Easy for you to say.”

 

Derek grins, looking like a debauched sex god. He tugs Stiles up and over on the wooden bench set between the rows of lockers and shoves his legs apart. “I’ll show you.”

 

 

**___________________**

Derek still has the taste of Stiles’ come on his tongue when Stiles dresses in record post-orgasm time and flees the locker room without taking the shower he came for.

**___________________**

“You think Allison has a date to Homecoming?” Scott muses, oblivious to the pained expression on Kira’s face. “I bet she does.”

 

“I think she’s going with Danny, man.” Stiles replies, stacking his fishsticks on the lunch tray. The free lunch offered to the low-income students is a far cry from the sushi and smoothies Cora and her friends enjoyed. “As friends.”

 

This has been the weirdest lunch hour in the history of the world. Stiles has been having a silent heart attack since this morning. He sucked Derek off yesterday and the world is still turning. He sucked off the guy who tormented his best friend, who stood for every rich and privileged thing they hate.

 

If Scott were to find out… Stiles doesn’t even want to think of the fall out. He’d lose his best friend for sure. And for what? To be Derek Hale’s knot slut.

 

“Why don’t we all go in a group?” Isaac suggests. “It’d be fun.”

 

“I think I can borrow my Mom’s car.” Kira says. “It can fit all of us.”

 

Scott doesn’t look away from the spot where Allison is sitting, deep in conversation with Lydia. She’s dressed in a BHS red and white cheerleading uniform, hair tied back in a low ponytail. She moved to Beacon Hills at the end of last year. Her father is a big shot architect and she slid right into the shiny plastics as soon as he dropped her off in his Maserati.

 

“I’m down.” Stiles responds for him and Scott, taking pity on Kira. “And if it blows, we can head to my place, have a movie night. Dad’s on patrol…”

 

He trails off when Derek walks into the cafeteria, fear and arousal taking hold.

 

Of course, that’s when Kyle decides to throw a pickle at him. It hits his cheek, slimy and cold, before it peels off and lands on the top of his tray.

 

Kyle’s table erupts in laughter.

 

Derek is looking at him.

 

Scott jumps to his feet and Isaac quickly follows.

 

“Screw them.” Stiles stops them, rubbing his cheek clean. He’s seen this scenario too many times to count, has gotten his ass kicked because of it. They want a fight because they know they can win. “Let it go.”

 

“We can’t let him get away with—”

 

“We can.” Stiles gathers the rest of his lunch, heart in his throat. “Uh, I’m gonna go brush up on my STDs before the Health quiz.”

 

Scott grabs his books, sending one more glare in Kyle’s direction. “I’ll come with.”

**___________________**

Derek watches Stiles rush out of the lunchroom, Scott close behind flipping Kyle off defiantly as the pass.

 

Derek grabs Kyle when he tries to follow, pushing him back in his seat.

 

“What?”

 

“Why do you have to be a prick?” Derek growls, slamming his books down. “It’s getting old.”

 

Kyle looks confused. “Huh?”

 

“Picking on an omega.”

 

“Stilinkski?” Kyle laughs but he stops trying to follow the pair out. “He barely counts.”

 

“Then why pay so much attention to him?”

 

The bewilderment morphs into a sneer. “What’s it to you?”

 

“You into him or something?”

 

Kyle blinks in astonishment. “Hell, no. I just want to get a rise out of McCall.”

 

“Pulling an omega’s pigtails.” Lydia chimes in, expression bored. “You’re basically sniffing his ass, creep.”

 

Kyle shakes his head, but there’s a flush at his collar. “Yeah, right.” He’s sweating. “He’s _trash_.”

 

Anger swells inside of Derek when he realizes that Lydia may be right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a la Clueless.

 

Sometimes Stiles curses the natural gift of gab he’s been given, because most of the teachers don’t appreciate it. Most of them get that pinched face and write down his name for detention. It’s why Stiles is leaving school at 5:00 PM on a Friday night. It’s not like he had any plans to ruin but it’s the principle of it all.

 

The school parking lot is nearly deserted except for a few cars. He recognizes the principal’s ten-year-old Lincoln and contemplates keying Ms. Jamison’s little silver Kia. She’s the one who slapped him with the detention for merely trying to enlighten her on the history of circumcision.

 

Halfway to his car, Stiles falters.

 

Derek’s shiny black, expensive Camaro is parked right next to his jeep.

 

On cue, the double doors swing open and Derek strolls down the school steps, freshly showered, dark hair wet and curling. There’s nowhere for Stiles to go, and he doesn’t really know what to say, so he makes a beeline for his car.

 

“Hey!” Derek calls out and he’s _smiling_. “Stiles, wait up.”

 

“Uh, hi.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck. Instantly, his mind goes back to being on his knees, mouth stuffed full of cock. “What’s going on?”

 

“Why’re you here so late?”

 

“Detention.”

 

“Got caught drawing dirty pictures?”

 

Stiles blushes. “Look...sorry about that, I don’t even...I have no excuse except for boredom. So, if you’re going to punch me or whatever--”

 

“Hey.” Derek nudges him with his shoulder, and his stomach does a little flip at the teasing. “Stop freaking out.”

 

“I drew you fucking Socrates.”

 

Derek snorts in laughter. “Thought that was Plato.”

 

“Well, ok…” Stiles laughs nervously. “Uhm. About the other day, I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re—"

 

“What are you up to now?”

 

“Wh-why?” Stiles asks suspiciously.

 

“If you’re hungry, I’m on my way to _Melo’s_.”

 

 _Melo’s_ is a gastropub that caters specifically to the younger, fitter crowd of Weres. It’s over-priced truffle fries and lamb burgers. It’s also where all the assholes go, and even worse, it’s Friday night. Jackson, Kyle and his ilk will be there pre-gaming, jammed into the back four booths, making as much noise as possible and being allowed to because of daddy’s AMEX. Stiles worked there for a grand total of three months busing tables before he had enough of the sleazy manager brushing up against him in the stock room. Tips were shit too, especially if it was the rich kids from school.

 

“Yeah. No, thanks.”

 

“As in you’re not hungry?”

 

“As in I don’t feel like getting shit on by your friends outside of school too.”

 

Derek stiffens. “I won’t let them.”

 

“I appreciate it but no.”

 

Stiles goes to open the Jeep’s door but because his life is just a series of unfortunate events, it jams. He yanks harder on the handle as Derek watches, but it won’t budge even when he hits it with his hip and jiggles it just so.

 

“It gets stuck sometimes.” Stiles murmurs mortified as he walks around to the passenger side. “Just gotta…”

 

Thankfully, that door cooperates, and he can crawl over to the driver’s side.

 

Derek is still standing there, he makes a motion with his hands, signaling Stiles to roll down the window.  Face red, Stiles does, struggling with the hand crank because his car, even though he loves it, is falling apart.

 

“If you’re not into _Melo’s_ ; pick somewhere else.”

 

“I…” This must be a mean- spirited joke. “Why?”

 

“I want to have dinner with you.”

 

“Again, why? I already sucked you off.”

 

“Why not?” Derek’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Maybe I want to hang out, discuss your art?”

 

Stiles groans, pressing his forehead into the steering wheel before looking over at Derek. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

 

Derek laughs, the sound rich and deep. “No.”

 

“And I can pick…”

 

“Anywhere you want. My treat.”

 

“I can pay for myself.” Stiles says softly.

 

Stiles has two choices here. He can flat out reject Derek, get out of this with some dignity intact in case this really is a redux of _Cruel Intentions_ , or he can take a chance and live a daydream for one fucking day.  It’s probably pathetic but it gives his esteem a boost, that an omega like him can attract an alpha of that caliber. Even if it’s just for now. For one night, he can pretend that Derek is interested in him for more than an easy lay, he can pretend that his life is different and normal, that he can date and not worry about paying bills, his father and working.

 

Sex is easy, right? He can allow himself one more time and then act like this never happened.

 

Is that so wrong?

 

Ignore the nagging voice telling him he’s betraying Scott he makes a choice.

 

“Well?” Derek prods. “What do you say?”

 

“You ever hear of _Jo-jo’s Bogo_?”

 

Derek’s nose wrinkles. “ _What_ is that?”

 

Stiles turns the key in the ignition and thankfully, his car starts up noisily after a few false sputters. “Follow me.”

 

**___________________**

 

When Stiles’ Jeep comes to a stop in front of a dingy diner thirty minutes later, Derek tries not to let his disquiet show. The place is a dive, and that’s putting it politely. There’s a red-rusted pickup truck slanted across the lot next to the eatery and Derek parks his car next to it. There are no marked stalls or a parking lot. A flashing sign reads _Jo-bo’s_ because half of the letters are not working. Under it is a faded cut out of a gorilla in a banana skirt. Good Lord.

 

“Here we are.” Stiles hops out of his car, and looks at Derek in challenge. “Still hungry?”

 

“Starving.” Derek has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He’d seen Stiles, warm and alluring in the fading sunlight outside of school and just wanted. He holds the door open for Stiles. “After you.”

 

Thankfully, inside is better. It’s surprisingly clean, the red and white checked floors spotless and booths gleaming, if a bit worn. Stiles gets into the last one which has silver tape holding it together at the back near a bay window lined with circus figurines. Derek slides in across from him.

 

The silence stretches between them after a friendly waitress, who knows Stiles by name, drops paper menus in front of them. There’s a water stain on his.

 

“So, what’s good here?”

 

Stiles continues to stare at him.

 

“Do I have something on my face?”

 

“How do you grow a beard like that?” Stiles blurts out then immediately goes red. “Sorry. I mean…”

 

Derek grins, he loves how easy Stiles is to read. “No clue but my Father’s a pureblood wolf, Greek, and my uncles are all generally hairy.”

 

“You have Uncles?”

 

“Four on my omega Dad’s side, not on my father’s though.”

 

“I don’t have any.” Stiles laughs awkwardly, playing with the small packets of sugar left out in the center. “Uncles that is. It’s just me and my Dad.”

 

Derek remembers when Stiles mother died, summer of his freshman year. He’d wanted to reach out then, to give some comfort, but he’d been afraid it wouldn’t be appreciated. In the end, he sent flowers to her pyre anonymously.

 

Derek thanks the waitress when she brings over waters. “So, any recommendations?”

 

“Stiles here has had everything on the menu.” The waitress—Irma, the name tag reads—replies. “But I reckon he’ll order Chili cheese fries, extra hot sauce, bacon onion burger and a banana milkshake.”

 

“One of these days I’m gonna order a tuna salad and surprise the hell out of you.”

 

Derek feels queasy at the thought of that much grease, so he quickly scans the menu, eyes landing on lighter options. “I’ll take a grilled chicken sandwich, mayo on the side and some lemon for my water.”

 

Irma gives him a look of disbelief.

 

“That’s a 90-year-old man’s order, Derek!” Stiles exclaims.

 

“Least I’ll live to see 90.” Derek quips back but adds. “And some fries, plain please.”

 

“Gotta keep that figure.” Irma winks at him. “Don’t get on his case, Stiles, it’s for your benefit.”

 

Stiles blushes, eyes going to his place mat and Derek grins, knocking his foot against his under the table, but the omega refuses to look up. Irma laughs and clears away the menus and doesn’t bother confirming Stiles’ order. They wait for their food in relative silence. Derek isn’t sure what to say to Stiles and is nervous as hell just being here. It’s a foreign feeling because he’s confident anywhere else, with anyone else. He’s an alpha, it’s his nature to be assertive and to dominate, but he doesn’t feel in control right now.

 

Stiles doesn’t help. He sits across the booth, doe eyes staring at him like Derek is an insect beneath a magnifying glass. The collar of Stiles’ T-shirt is worn, tiny holes dotting the collar, he can see the pale skin of his chest, where the tan ends. It’s sexier than it should be. Nearly as sexy as the memory of Stiles’ lips spread obscenely around his cock as he swallowed his come.

 

The silence leaves too much room for dirty thoughts and Derek doesn’t want to pop a stiffy in a family diner so, he does the talking. He expands on his Uncles, and tells Stiles superficial shit about the rest of his family, glossing over his absent father. He talks about his life: training, school and his friends. Stiles perks up at the story of Lydia throwing up in his Uncles’ vintage jaguar after junior prom, laughing when Derek goes into all the gory details.

 

“But she’s a walking princess Barbie! I bet she pukes pink glitter.”

 

“She definitely doesn’t, it was all pineapple chunks.”

 

Stiles bursts out laughing, hand covering his mouth and something inside Derek expands warmly. The food arrives then. It smells insanely good, even his chicken sandwich. Stiles looks over at him smugly and digs in to his mountain of chili and cheese covered fires with gusto after squirting a liberal amount of mayonnaise and hot sauce on the pile.

 

Derek takes a bite of his sandwich and fights back a moan. It’s delicious. The chicken is charred and seasoned, the greens light and fresh. His request for mayo on the side has been disregarded but he doesn’t even care; the tangy addition makes it perfect.

 

“See?” Stiles says mouth full of fries, spraying bits of food as he talks. It should be disgusting but it isn’t. “What’d I tell you?”

 

“Nothing.” Derek swallows his food before he speaks like a civilized person. “You told me nothing, but the food is great.”

 

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. My mom’s favorite place.”

 

After that the conversation is less stilted, the food a weird buffer between them. Derek clears his plate, Stiles ends up asking for a box to take home Derek’s French fries after eating more than half. Derek takes a banana milk shake to go. They fight over the check when it comes but Stiles proves faster, slapping down a wrinkled twenty before Derek can dig his credit card out of his wallet.

 

“I’ll get next time.” Derek says as they walk outside.

 

It’s dark now, past eight.

 

“There’s a next time?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Dunno.” Stiles stops walking. “I already blew you.”

 

His skin tingles. “Yeah, I was there.”

 

“So…”

 

“So?”

 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner because you want to hook up or something.”

 

“But I didn’t buy you dinner.”

 

That earns a short laugh.

 

The moonlight makes Stiles appear paler than he already is, eyes wide and luminous. Derek wants to kiss those wide lips, tongue fuck him as he makes him come in his pants. He can’t keep his eyes off his neck, wants to get the vulnerable curve of it under his teeth.

 

Derek lifts a brow. “We had fun tonight, didn’t we?”

 

“You’re nicer than I thought, and obviously you’re hot…”

 

“I’m sensing a but.”

 

“But your friends make my life a living hell and my best friend hates you.”

 

“I don’t know what McCall’s issue is with me.”

 

Wrong thing to say.

 

Stiles bristles. “You mean you’ve never hit him? Fought him?”

 

“ _He’s_ hit _me_.” Derek defends. Every time he makes a conscious effort to avoid the other alpha, Scott makes himself known. He’s constantly making snide comments and giving him looks of derision. It doesn’t help that his scent is frequently entwined with Stiles’. “He’s _fought_ me.”

 

“Bullshit. But you know what? Doesn’t matter.” Stiles shakes his head, he’s reached his car. “Like I said, I really liked sucking you off and I wanna. I’d let you…” He licks his lips, flushed. “If it’s sex, no strings attached, I can do it, but no one can know.”

 

“ So. You want to sneak around?”

 

Stiles tilts his head inquiringly, “What do you say?”

 

Derek should say no, he should say that he’s been watching the back of Stiles’ head for two fucking years but the words get stuck in his throat. He’s afraid.

 

“Yeah.” Derek agrees gruffly, even as his wolf whines within him; no commitment from his omega. “Ok.”

 

Stiles brightens and looks at him expectantly.

 

Derek looks back.

 

With a tiny noise of impatience, Stiles hauls him close by his collar. There’s no teasing or preamble, Stiles tongue dives right into his mouth, sucking and biting at his lips. It’s the single hottest kiss Derek’s ever had. While Stiles isn’t experienced or finessed, he makes up for it in enthusiasm, pressing his skinny body up against Derek’s broad one, opening his legs for Derek to rut between.

 

Derek drops his banana milkshake. His heart is pounding so fast and so hard he’s sure Stiles can feel it.

 

“My milkshake!”

 

“I’ll buy you another one.” Stiles promises, hands groping down his back.

 

Breathing heavily, Derek tears his mouth free, soothing Stiles with kisses to his jaw and neck when he whimpers. “How big is the back of that Jeep?”

 

Stiles’ fingers dig into his side painfully, hips lifting to meet his clothed erection, uncaring that that they were only semi hidden in the darkness outside of the dinner.

 

Derek nuzzles the curve of his neck, breathes in the scent that’s unique to only Stiles.

 

“Big enough.”

 

Derek still makes him drive further up the road.

 

Once they’re surrounded by trees and hidden in the dark, Derek pushes Stiles into the back of the Jeep, pushing down his jeans and underwear in one go. Derek urges Stiles forward until he’s on his forearms, pale ass in the air and legs trapped in denim tangled at his knees.

 

Derek palms one cheek, testing the ripe firmness and spreading him open, staring at the tiny hole. He wants to taste him badly. Stiles shudders when he presses closer, warm breath fanning across his entrance.

 

“Oh fuck. How are you even real?” Stiles looks back at him, expression wrecked already. “ _Please_.”

 

He dips his tongue inside, moans at the heat and taste of Stiles. Stiles moves like live wire, pushing back against his face as Derek tongues and licks at his hole, sucking along the rim as he teases a finger inside. Stiles’ fingers reach back to press him close, hold Derek captive as he eats him out.

 

“You really like this, huh?” Derek pulls back, smiling when Stiles mewls his protest.  He runs his fingers down the delicate curve of his spine and Stiles arches into his touch. “You’re so responsive.”

 

Stiles moans.

 

“I want to fuck you.” Derek pushes his fingers in alongside his tongue, groaning at how tight the omega is, how wet. He imagines how Stiles would squeeze around his cock. “Shit.” Derek pulls back, resting his forehead on Stiles’ thigh. “No condom.”

 

“Don’t care.” Stiles twists around, moving until his back is up against the spare wheel. He kicks off his jeans completely. “I’ll get the pill tomorrow.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

It would be Stiles’ first time, even if he won’t admit it.

 

“Derek—”

 

Derek stops the words with a kiss, letting Stiles taste himself on his tongue before running his hands back up between Stiles thighs to his wet entrance. He fingers him, nice and slow, pushing in and out until Stiles is gasping into his mouth begging him to come.  Derek waits until his eyes are open, focused on him and then presses his fingers against his prostate, relentless until Stiles arches his back and paints his stomach with come.

 

**___________________**

 

It’s more awkward then it should be. Derek’s knot hasn’t even deflated completely, and Stiles is already chewing at the bit to get away. It’s ironic that an alpha is the one known for the using.

 

“Are you okay to get home or—”

 

“Fine.” Stiles mumbles, zipping up his pants. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

 

“Look, Stiles, about Scott—”

 

“It’d be nice if you didn’t knock him around anymore, especially if I’m gonna be doing this, you know.”

 

It makes everything seedier than it should be.

 

**___________________**

 

The following weeks are bizarre. Derek and Stiles settle into this pseudo kind of normal where they met up nearly every day and fool around. Not that Stiles is complaining. The fooling around part is amazing. The lying to Scott and using so much scent blocker he feels dizzy not so much.

 

Stiles had nearly not made it through his shift. The first thing he does when he gets home is take a long shower before fixing a healthy dinner for his dad.

 

They eat in comfortable silence, television still on in the small living room.

 

“Your left rear tire is looking low.”

 

Stiles picks at his wheat pasta. He doesn’t blame his Dad for hating this shit. “I’m going to replace them soon.”

 

“Do it before it gets cold out and snow comes.”

 

Easier said than done when Stiles had dipped into his measly savings to cover the water bill. Stiles doesn’t say that, course he doesn’t. Sherlock whines from beneath the table and Stiles sighs when his father feeds the dog some chicken.

 

“Dad, did you hear from Veritas Security?”

 

John stills. “Why would I?”

 

“I uh, I submitted an application for you.” Stiles rushes to explain. “The pay is really good, better then at the condo and—”

 

His father’s expression is grim. “I don’t need you doing me any favors.”

 

“If they’re not going to allow you back on the force then—”

 

“Don’t worry about me.” John pushes back from the table. He pats Stiles head on the way out and leaves his dishes in the sink. “Focus on school. Maybe find a nice alpha.”

 

“Dad.”

 

“I’m tired, Stiles. I’m going to sleep.”

 

There’s no use in arguing. Stiles scrapes the leftovers into a Tupperware container before leaving the dishes and the dirty pan in the sink. Sherlock follows him, licking his fingers in sympathy.  He’s tired of living paycheck to paycheck, but his father doesn’t have any ambition. Losing his job as Sheriff while he was in rehab, extinguished all motivation. The department had no loyalty to a man who served over twenty years on the force. No more than three weeks into his father’s stay and they elected Jordan Parrish as the new Sheriff, a man with ties to the influential Whittemores.

 

In the middle of scrubbing the pans, Stiles’ phone rings. It’s Derek and he wants to drive out to _Jo-Jo’s_ for a milkshake. It’s not a milkshake Derek is after.  It’s past ten, on a school night, his father would never agree to it. But Stiles can hear his Dad’s snores from the kitchen.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles knows he shouldn’t. He’s tired, but being with Derek takes away that part of him. “I’ll meet you in fifteen.”

**___________________**

 

Kira’s mom drives a huge SUV.  It’s crazy convenient to get the group together. Even more so tonight. The homecoming dance has never really been their thing, but Stiles is starting to come around to it.

 

It’s Kira’s idea, to be more social and to enjoy themselves. So, the night of the dance, they meet at her house, down some cheap laced vodka while they dance to her horrible selection of pop.

 

They’re going in a group, as discussed, but the moment Stiles sees Scott he knows it’s just a formality.  He mentally makes the decision to drive  the jeep over.

 

“You actually look decent.”  Stiles tweaks Scotts blue bow tie. “And is that gel in your hair?”

 

“Don’t be a dick.” Scotts slaps his hands away but grins broadly. He’s been bragging about the suit he’s rented to anyone who stood still long enough. “I’m going to ask Allison to dance with me.”

 

That’s a bad idea, on so many levels. He doesn’t want his friend to be humiliated, and chances are, Allison will be surrounded by people more than willing to crush his friend.

 

“Are you sure…” Stiles begins carefully. “Scott, tonight is supposed to be about all of us, having fun, you know?”

 

Not to mention that Kira is decked to the nines in a slinky red dress and curled hair. She may as well be wearing robe and slippers for all Scott would notice.

 

“And it will be.” Scott tosses his cup. “You look sharp too by the way, nice outfit.

 

Stiles looks down at his jeans and collared shirt. “Yeah, didn’t have the money for the rental like I thought.”

 

Scott draws him in for a hug. “I mean it, man, you look good.”

 

“What’s with the pow wow?”  Isaac jumps between them, causing their drinks to slosh. He slings an arm around them. “Let’s party! Tonight’s gonna be a goooood night!”

 

**___________________**

 

It starts off normal enough, or what Stiles thinks is normal. They arrive at the harbor restaurant the student body association rented out for the dance. It’s high end, twinkling tea lights and floor length white curtains that billow in the soft breeze. Everyone knows that Lydia’s father owns a huge chunk of waterfront property.

 

The glass tables are situated around a wood paneled dance floor, lit with candles and lily center pieces adorned in crystals that catch the light. It’s insanely beautiful.

 

Stiles feels shabby as soon as the coat check asks him for his coat and then adds that the coat check is complimentary.

 

They’re under dressed, even Scott.

 

Allison is standing next to the Cherrywood bar in a floor length ice blue gown. It shimmers and moves like it was created for her. Lydia, not to be outdone, is wearing a deep blush chiffon creation, whose slit shows an insane amount of thigh. She’s laughing with Jackson, manicured hand on his arm while Kyle speaks to the bartender in what must be some demanding way, judging by the man’s expression. The guys are all in slim fitting tuxes, which scream expensive.

 

“What the fuck…” Isaac whispers next to him. “This is homecoming?”

 

Every hair on his body prickles with awareness.

 

Derek’s seated at a table, foot crossed over his knee. He’s in a slate grey, slim fit suit and white silk shirt that stretches over his muscles, hair styled with mousse and clean shaven for once. Fuck. Stiles has no idea he had a thing for a man in a well- tailored suit. If he concentrates he can scent the sharpness of his cologne, isolate it form every other scent in the room.

 

An omega,  a junior named Charles Haim or Hugh or something, slides in next to him, and hands Derek a drink with a suggestive smile. Derek’s lips wrap around the straw and Stiles thinks about how he’s had that mouth on nearly every single part of him.

 

“Let’s get some food.” Kira grabs him by the hand and tugs him to the buffet, It’s laden with crab cakes, shrimp cocktail, sliders, sushi… incredible. “Dude! We should’ve brought Tupperware. This spread is insane.”

 

“Insane.” Isaac agrees, around a mouthful of coconut shrimp. “Holy shit.”

 

Once their plates are filled, they head over to find an empty table, and to do that, they must pass Derek. Kira’s chattering loudly enough to be heard over the music, and to make matters worse, Stiles trips on the carpet and nearly faceplants. The commotion gets the attention of Derek’s table.

 

Like always, like before, Derek’s eyes skip over him.

 

It’s not like Stiles is expecting Derek to acknowledge him, it’s just weird. He feels peculiar, like hollow. It’s what they agreed to, but last night Derek had been kissing him within an inch of his life and making him come in his briefs. And now? Now he’s eating a fucking cherry and yacking it up with one of the biggest bitches in school.

 

The food doesn’t taste so good after that, but Stiles eats a shit ton, participating half-heartedly in the table’s conversation while sneaking glances in Derek’s direction. Cora’s arrived, of course she has, entourage in full affect and looking like she’s going to the _Grammy’s_.

 

Derek’s getting up now, going to the dance floor.

 

“Boy can he move.”

 

Stiles jumps at Kira’s voice in his ear. “What?”

 

“Derek Hale! Sex God.” Kira grabs his hand. “Let’s dance, too!”

 

“Uhm.” Stiles watches Charlie grind on Derek none discretely and wonders where the fuck the chaperons are.  Charlie looks like he’s trying to start a fire. “No thanks, I have two left feet, unless it’s like, something I can jump up and down to.”

 

“Party pooper.”

 

“I’ll dance with you.” Scott obliges and Kira, bless her, lights up.

 

Stiles stays behind and watches like a creeper as the dance floor progressively get more crowded. Eventually, even Isaac abandons him when an Imagine Dragons song starts to play, leaving Stiles alone at the table.

 

Derek’s no longer in sight.

 

His friends have left their plates so he freely scavenges a honey chicken wing and pulls out his phone to try and not look like a complete loser.

 

“Surprised to see you here.”

 

 _Shit_. Cora is standing in front of him, hand on her hip. She’s not alone and Stiles groans inwardly at the smirk on Kyle’s face.

 

“I go to BHS.” Stiles answers warily, setting the chicken wing down. She’s in full bitch mode, and for what? “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

 

“Well, the tickets were free.”

 

Her friends titter.

 

Seriously, is his life a CW teen drama?

 

“What’s your deal Cora? What have I ever done to you?”

 

“My deal?” “My deal is that I can’t stand the sight of your face.”

 

He blinks. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

 

She leans forward, until she’s inches away from his face. “You’re not fooling me, Stilinski. Not in the least. You’re nothing but a knot slut.”

 

His pulse speeds up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I’m sure you don’t.” She lowers her voice, just so he can hear. “Remember your place, omega.”

 

Before Stiles can even begin to decipher what she even means, she tips her drink down into his lap. He jumps up in shock, dripping with syrupy Shirley Temple juice and ice cubes.

 

“Woops.” Cora smiles, letting the glass hit the floor. “You should go soak that before it stains.”

 

They’re all laughing like it’s some great joke, Kyle the loudest.

 

It’s humiliating to feel this helpless, and Stiles wonders _why him_ as he races out of the restaurant to the sound of Cora’s laughter. If his friends see him upset, if Scott knows what happened, he’d want to fight or something equally stupid. He doesn’t want to ruin their night.

 

It’s so fucking dumb, and pointless, but it hurts him anyway. Guess that’s how bullying works. Stiles _knew_ it was a bad idea to come tonight, _he knew_ , and he agreed anyway.  If he’s honest with himself, the thought of seeing Derek played into it. This is what he gets. He just wants to go home and curl up with Sherlock on the couch.

 

Because his life is pure shit, the jeep won’t start. He prays and turns the key in the ignition, begging with the hulk of junk but it stubbornly refuses to cooperate. Stiles puts his head down on the steering wheel and fights the urge to scream in frustration.

 

There’s a knock on the car window. Derek’s standing there like an alpha in shining Armani, jacket discarded, face artfully showcased in the evening light.

 

Stiles rolls down the window.

 

Derek holds up his car keys. “Need a lift?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a la Peter Griffen. 
> 
> Yes, Stiles quotes him but doesn't acknowledge it, will

 

Stiles has been quiet since he got into Derek’s car. He’s been texting someone, Scott from what Derek manages to see. Stiles texts that he has a stomach ache and is catching the bus.

 

Stiles is upset, but Derek’s doesn’t know why. The alpha in him reacts to the distress emanating off the smaller boy. He wants to protect him, but Stiles won’t tell him how to make it better.

 

“Do you want—"

 

“I don’t want to fool around.” Stiles stares out the window. It’s drizzling, moisture beading on the sleek exterior of the Porsche. “So, yeah.”

 

Fooling around is the last thing on Derek’s mind. “Should I take you home?”

 

It’s the wrong thing to say, Stiles mood darkens further. “No.”

 

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you upset?”

 

“No.”

 

“Where do you want to go?”

 

“Anywhere.”

 

With those vague and conflicting directives, Derek continues driving. He drives past the main road, past the high school and past the city limits, taking the quiet back roads to avoid traffic.

 

It’s not until he gets there, that Derek realizes where he chose to go. It’s a small park, two towns over, his omega dad’s hometown. When Derek was young, even before he can remember, his Oma would take him hiking through the winding trails. He’d felt the safest then, warm and nestled against his Oma’s beating heart as the sounds of nature filled his ears.

 

After is death, Derek ran away for a grand total of four hours, sat here for hours, because he thought that if he stood still long enough, Oma would come back. He hadn’t understood then, that death meant goodbye forever.

 

Derek parks in a small clearing, right before the Northern hiking trail begins. There aren’t many city lights that reach out here, so the stars shine brightly in a twinkling mass above them. Derek pushes the button to open the panoramic sky roof, giving them an unobstructed view of the night sky.

 

This place calms him, he hopes it can offer the same comfort to Stiles.

 

The rain intensifies, and Stiles fidgets.

 

“I know something’s on your mind, you want to talk about it?”

 

“We’re not friends.”

 

It stings.

 

“Understood, but I’m all you have right now.”

 

Stiles finally looks at him, his face pale. He runs his finger down the wood grain dash. “Whose car is this?”

 

“Mine.”

 

“What happened to the Camaro?”

 

“Still have it. My father bought this for my birthday.”

 

Stiles snorts derisively, “Must be nice.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Derek doesn’t see the point in adding that the present came two weeks after the fact and the card was signed by his father’s longtime secretary.

 

The silence descends once more.

 

“Want to play music roulette?”

 

Stiles gives him a look of annoyance.

 

“C’mon, give me your phone.” Derek holds out his hand and takes the cell when Stiles hesitantly lays it in his palm. He plugs in his aux chord and presses play on the music icon.

 

A pop song starts up, loud and obnoxious but somehow catchy.

 

“Demi Lovato Stiles? Really?”

 

Stiles doesn’t look repentant, but he looks less like someone kicked his puppy. The tightness around his mouth smoothing. “ _Give Your Heart A Break_ is going to be a classic one day.”

 

Derek scoffs, “Yeah right.”

 

“You have to admit she’s been killing it lately.”

 

“I’ll admit nothing.”

 

“Have you heard _Tell Me You Love Me_?” Stiles asks, and Derek shakes his head. “Put that on.”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Derek tsks, holding the phone away. “That’s not how this works, you can’t just pick a song.”

 

Derek skips to the next song, and a loud beat starts up, bass pumping through the speakers. A feeling of horror descends. Derek looks down at the display, and Stiles bounces in his seat and pumps his hands. Nicki Minaj, Anaconda.

 

Oh, Stiles.

 

“Dork.” Derek laughs, “Okay, so I’m getting worried that your taste in music is top ten bullshit.”

 

“Like your musical preferences are so deep and existential, huh, Mr. Football?”

 

“Better than this.” Derek skips to the next song and is pleasantly surprised to hear a familiar melody.   _Desperado_ by The Eagles. “Hm. There’s hope for you yet.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but they let the entire song play to the end, singing along quietly.  Derek plays two more songs, _Wildest Dreams_ by Taylor Swift and _Seven Years_ by Lukas Graham.

 

Derek can’t make it through Gucci Gang by some guy with a _Lil_ in front of his name, so he cuts it off to Stiles indignation.

 

“Fine!” Stiles huffs. “Let’s see what you’re hiding, Hale.”

 

Derek obediently hands his iphone over. He knows it’s filled with two types of music, the fast-paced workout mix and the songs that mean something to him.

 

The first song that plays on the random setting is a soft rock ballad. _Every Rose Has it Thorn_.

 

Stiles stares at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for such a softie.”

 

“That song is _actually_ a classic.”

 

“And Niall Horan?” Stiles gleefully scrolls through his music, blatantly ignoring the rules. “You One Direction slut!”

 

“Cora put that on there, it’s not mine.”

 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Stiles plays the song anyway, _Too Much To Ask_.  It’s impossible for Derek not to tap his fingers to. Before he knows it, he’s singing along. When he looks up, Stiles is studying him, expression indecipherable but easy-going.  “If your friends could see you now.”

 

“Better then _Anaconda_.”

 

“She’s an acquired taste, I guess.” Stiles shrugs, laying back in the leather seat. Much more relaxed then before. He’s still scrolling. “ _Faking it_? Kehlani? I kind of expected you to be into like…I don’t know, whatever is hardcore alpha bro music.”

 

“You think I’m a bro?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“I have the third highest GPA in my class.”

 

“Sounds like two other parents are prouder than your father.”

 

“Not that he’d notice.”

 

“He travels a lot, right? Buys million -dollar properties or some shit?”

 

It’s Derek’s turn to shrug. “Uhm, not really sure.”

 

The next song begins, and Derek’s chest tightens. He reaches for the volume, feeling oddly exposed. “We should head back—”

 

“Is that a country song?” Stiles sits up, swatting away his hands. “That is a country song!”

 

It’s _Wanted_ by Hunter Hayes.

 

“You’ve played this a bajillion times!” Stiles waves the phone in his face. “Dude, you like country?”

 

“It’s actually a popular genre—”

 

“It’s actually a popular genre.” Stiles mimics, and then dissolves into laughter. “I’m sorry, but, you look so fucking uptight right now. Calm your tits, it’s actually not bad, good medley, kind of sappy…”

 

_'Cause I wanna wrap you up, wanna kiss your lips, I wanna make you feel wanted_

 

Derek can’t count how many times he’s said those words and thought of the omega next to him.

 

Stiles pokes him in the chest. “Although, I don’t know how you can dosey-do to this; get a hoe-down going.”

 

“You’re an ass.”

 

“Am I?” Stiles props his chin up in his hands, batting his eyelashes. “To think I used to be terrified of the big, bad alpha.”

 

“You have nothing to be afraid of from me.”

 

_As good as you make me feel, I wanna make you feel better, better than your fairy tales, better than your best dreams_

 

As Derek watches, Stiles’ amber eyes drop to his lips and stay there. He can see the change, scent it. The artificial cherry and cologne fading to the warm, earthy tones of _Stiles_.

_You're more than everything I need, you're all I ever wanted. All I ever wanted_

 

“I kind of want to make out now.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

 

“It’s romantic, this song.” Stiles leans over the console. “Just realized it.”

 

Because there’s no way he can resist, Derek meets him midway with a gentle kiss, brushing his lips over Stiles’ in a fleeting caress until the omega makes a sound of impatience and yanks him forward, deepening the kiss.

 

It’s impossible not to want more, to reach for it when it’s being offered so sweetly. Derek hauls Stiles up and over the console, so the omega is straddling his lap. Stiles makes a noise of approval into his mouth, grinding down on him as his hands tangle in his hair.

 

They both jump when Derek’s phone vibrates loudly.

 

Stiles looks at the notification and the soft expression vanishes.

 

“It’s Cora.” Stiles moves back over to his seat and tucks his shirt back into his pants. “You’re Homecoming King.”

 

 

**___________________**

 

“You can drop me off at the gas station.” The last thing he needs or wants is to explain to nosey neighbors why he’s being dropped off in a bajillion dollar car. “I’ll walk home from there.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, it’s pouring.”

 

“Let me borrow your umbrella.”

 

“That’s dumb, I’m dropping you off at your door like a normal person.”

 

Stiles flushes, cold sweat pricking down his spine.

 

If he’s honest, it’s more then people seeing. He doesn’t want Derek to see where he lives. The house he shares with his dad is basically four rooms, small and narrow. Derek probably lives in a house fit for Bruce Wayne.

 

Driving towards his neighborhood highlights the decline. The nice buildings and condos fade away to one level campaneros, graffiti and broken sidewalks.

 

“I want you to drop me off at the gas station.”

 

Derek looks at him, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Okay, Stiles.”

 

Intoxicating relief rushes through him. The gas station is closed, lights cut off, so the pumps are dark. The convenience store attached to it, however, is 24 hours, neon sign blinking its weak welcome. Jim, the regular clerk is nowhere to be seen. Probably out on a smoke break.

 

True to his word, Derek turns left into the gas station and parks the car.

 

“Thanks.” Stiles trails off when Derek cuts the engine and turns off the car. “Wait, what are you doing?”

 

“I’m walking you home.”

 

“No, you’re not!”

 

Ignoring him, Derek pulls an umbrella out from the back seat. It’s the big, expensive kind with double lining and large enough to cover them both. He walks over to the passenger door, and opens it for Stiles.

 

“Don’t bother arguing.” Derek says before Stiles can do just that. “Let’s go.”

 

It’s not like Stiles can make a scene, that would only draw attention to all of this. Stomach churning, he gets out of the car and begins to walk with Derek under the heavy rain.

 

The moment they step unto his street, Stiles feels queasy. The pavement is broken in several places, dirt holes filling to mud under the downpour. Derek’s fancy leather old man shoes are ruined.  

 

It’s disgusting that he feels self-conscious. He hates that part of himself.  Derek trips, cursing and apologizing simultaneously. The feeling of inferiority rises again. He thinks about the look on Cora’s face when she tipped her drink all over him. This is the way she wants him to feel.

 

“This is me.” Stiles comes to a stop in front of his porch, his cheeks are burning. “Lucky number 13. Happy now?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You’ll have a good story for your friends.” Stiles steps out from under the umbrella, welcoming the cold drops on his skin. “How you slummed it down Sunshine Way.”

 

Derek looks stunned, white shirt plastered to his right side by rain. “I only wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

 

“Because of all the crack heads and pimps that roam the streets here, right?”

 

It’s easier to be angry at Derek then it is to turn it in on himself.

 

The alpha stares at him for long enough that Stiles is uncomfortable. He stands there, getting soaked. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

 

“I’m not ashamed!” Cora, as hateful as she is, is right. They come from different worlds. “Just go away, Derek.”

 

Derek grabs him by the wrist when Stiles heads for the porch, “I only wanted to make sure you got home safe. I swear, Stiles.”

 

And Derek sounds panicked, like he _cares_ if Stiles walks away from him.

 

The anger fades away as quickly as it comes, and Stiles feels stupid and too young to feel…

 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles blurts out. His arm looks so small and breakable beneath the alpha’s brawny grip. Derek could hurt him if he wanted to. “It’s been a long night.” He tugs gently, and Derek releases him. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

 

“Are we…” Derek seems uncaring of the rain. “Are we ok?”

 

“We’re fine. I’ll see you.”

 

Derek nods, and Stiles unlocks his front door, refusing to look back to see if he’s still watching.

 

 

 

**___________________**

 

 

“Are you feeling better?”

 

Stiles should’ve known Scott would be over first thing. He spreads a liberal amount of cream cheese on his bagel. He has work in five minutes. “Must’ve been something I ate. I _knew_ the crab cakes were a bit fishy.”

 

“Maybe.” Scott frowns, touching his stomach tentatively as he heads for the fridge. It reminds Stiles he needs to go to the grocery store tonight. “But I ate my weight in crab cakes and I feel fine. Great, even.”

 

“Yes, but you are alpha, hear you roar.”

 

Scott laughs, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Barring that, did you have fun?”

 

“It was…nice.”

 

“So, how much was the tow?”

 

“Tow?”

 

“For the jeep? You said it wouldn’t start but it’s in your driveway. Do you need me to spot you money? I had two double shifts last weekend.”

 

Jumbled, Stiles jerks back the curtain, staring in shock. His jeep _is_ there, parked neatly like it always is. But that’s impossible.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“Uhm, no.” Stiles answers quickly, going back to his bagel even though his heart is beating like crazy. Derek. “I’m good.”

 

“So, I asked Allison to dance after you left.”

 

Stiles stops chewing. “You did?”

 

There’s no evidence of a breakdown on Scott’s face.

 

Scott beams. “She said yes, and it was the best minute and a half of my life.”

 

“She said yes?”

 

“Don’t act so surprised, dude.”

 

“No, no I’m…” Stiles swallows the last bit of his bagel. “That’s great, man.”

 

“Things are gonna change, Stiles.” His face is flushed with excitement. “I’m telling you.”

 

**___________________**

 

 

Things don’t change.

 

Stiles realizes that midway through his shift when Ms. Daly calls him out from the back.

 

“Can you work the register?”

 

Stiles sets down the cream cheese frosting piping bag and heads to the front of the restaurant where a line is forming at the bakery counter. “Coming!”

 

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Daly pinches his cheek. “I have to go check on the carrot cake.”

 

Stiles’ ties on a clean apron. “No problem.”

 

His stomach sinks when he spots Lydia at the front of the line, Cora and Jackson standing behind her. She’s dressed in red and white warm ups, and Stiles remembers that there was a football game today.

 

“Hi.” Stiles greets brightly, tries for welcoming. “What can I get you?”

 

“Three iced lattes, one vanilla and two caramels.” Lydia answers without looking up from her phone. “Oh, and a cinnamon bun.”

 

“Coming right up.”

 

“Oh, Steve?” Lydia has been in his class since the second grade. Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Were the scones baked this morning?”

 

“First batch at five am, second by yours truly at 9.”

 

“Add two vanilla scones.”

 

The universe is against him because Jackson notices him then, like he just noticed Stiles, his mouth spreading into a shit eating grin. “ _Stilinski_ , you work here?”

 

“Nope.” Stiles cheerfully begins making the orders, desperately looking at the employee only door and hoping Mrs. Daly will come relieve him. “I just show up and hop behind the counter for fun, even made my own name tag.”

 

“You should be nicer to your customers.” Jackson taps the plastic cup sitting near the register. “Since you work for tips and all. Looks like you got a whole five dollars in here already.”

 

Stiles doesn’t respond, focuses on completing the lattes. He pretends not to hear Jackson laughing at him, and he pretends not to be uncomfortable.

 

At least Cora isn’t antagonizing him.

 

“Thanks, Steve.” Lydia says when he sets her cup down. “Keep up the good work.” She pays for the entire order on her credit card and true to Jackson’s threat doesn’t leave a tip.

 

Stiles watches the group settle into one of the three small table near the window. He isn’t trying to eavesdrop but they’re not being quiet. They’re talking about Cora’s birthday party; how fun it was and how Derek disappeared with Kent. It shouldn’t hurt but it does, leaves him stinging and raw. Derek is still seeing his ex-boyfriend.

 

So why was Derek the way he was at Homecoming?

 

“I don’t think they’ll ever be over,” Cora muses. “Not really. They’ve been together basically for three years, you know. That’s a long time, and a lot of history.”

 

“Is he the one who left those hickeys on Derek’s chest?” Jackson says around a mouthful of scone. “Dude looked like he got mauled.”

 

“That?” Cora’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Probably some knot slut, you know they swarm around him.”

 

Stiles’ cheeks are burning, anger and shame filling him.

 

“Can you believe how trashed Allison was at homecoming?” Lydia exclaims, giggling. “You know, she fell down the stairs when we got to my house!  She made so much noise that she woke up the housekeeper and everything. My mother was so pissed.”

 

“I knew she was far gone when she danced with mutant McCall.” Cora laughs. “She’s going to die when I show her the pictures!”

 

“She danced with McCall?” Jackson asks, “When?”

 

“Already tagged on Facebook.”

 

“Tons and tons.” Lydia she pulls up a picture. “I don’t think he looks half bad in this one.”

 

“Gross.” Jackson shakes his head and laughs. “If there was ever a PSA that would work for underage drinking, that is it.”

 

Stiles feels sick as he thinks about how happy Scott was that morning, how hopeful. This will crush him.

 

Thankfully, the group finishes up quickly. Cora grousing about a spin class as they gather their belongings. No one throws out their trash, the table littered with napkins and half -filled cups and crumbs in their wake.

 

Mrs. Daly is nowhere to be seen, so it’s left to Stiles to clean up.

 

“Oh.” Jackson strides over to the register. He flips a dime into the tip jar. “Buy yourself something nice.”

 

**___________________**

 

 

Thanksgiving is a weird holiday. It’s a custom that’s been adopted by Weres to commemorate their integration and then subsequent domination of human society. It’s a big deal for a lot of families but Stiles mostly goes through the motions.

 

Stiles has been cooking since five a.m., helping Melissa roll out dough for butterscotch pie, apple turnovers and biscuits before she left for the morning shift. They always have thanksgiving dinner near eight o’clock because both Melissa and the Sheriff have never managed to get the holiday off.

 

“Smells good.” Scott comments, sticking his finger into the mixing bowl of butterscotch batter.

 

He’s been in a relatively good mood this morning; which Stiles is grateful for. The Allison debacle hit him hard. They’ve spent the past few weeks playing video games and hanging out every day.  

 

As a result, Stiles hasn’t seen Derek since Homecoming, which in a way is good. He needs a breather from…from whatever this has grown into. They havent’teven had full on sex and it’s already so intense.

 

“You’re all domestic omega and shit.”

 

“For one day.” Stiles glares, pointing the wooden spoon at Scott threateningly. “And you know why.”

 

“I appreciate it.” Scott flops down unto the chair. He’s got one a dress shirt and jeans, freshly showered and ready. Stiles is still in his pajamas and covered in flour and food. “Anything you need me to do?”

 

“Nope, still cleaning up that stuffing you tried to make.”

 

Scott winces. “I tried, man.”

 

“My Dad should be home by seven, boss gave him the okay to leave early.”

 

“He shouldn’t have to work today period.” Scott mutters darkly. “Apparently, old man Hale gave the directive to cut time and a half for the employees who work the holiday. So, mom’s stuck at work and they’re not even paying her extra.”

 

Stiles bites his lip. “That’s fucked up.”

 

“Just be lucky your Dad isn’t in his clutches.” Sherlock whines at the growl and Scott give the dog a placating scratch. “ You know, I bet Derek is sitting in his mansion right now, at his huge table, stuffing his face with fancy appetizers and shit. _Crabcakes on crabcakes_! It’s beyond fucked up. It’s not fair.”

 

Melissa hadn’t mentioned that her holiday pay had been cut. Stiles is frustrated with his father’s job, but he’s grateful for the extra income holiday pay brings in. It makes a world of difference when it comes to the bills.

 

“I think the worst part is that Dad _managed_ the practice, Hale stole it right from under him and mom has to scrub the floors her mate once owned.”

 

There’s never anything Stiles can say at times like this, so he wisely keeps silent.  Everyone knows the story about Conrad McCall fled town within days of his practice’s transfer, humiliated enough to leave his wife and child behind.

 

Sometimes, that’s why Stiles thinks Scott is so angry. At one point, he was one of the kids outside of Sunshine Way, he lived the good life before it was snatched from him.

 

“We should get ice cream.”

 

Scott rolls his eyes. “You think that fixes everything.”

 

“Look, we may not have a lot, and your mom may not have holiday pay, but it’s Thanksgiving, and I’m thankful that we’ve got each other.”

 

Despite himself, Scott smiles. “You sound like a card.”

 

“I am admittedly corny.” Stiles bumps Scott’s shoulder with his own affectionally. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

 

Scott catches his arm, pulls him forward into a tight hug.

 

“Can I…”

 

Stiles doesn’t hesitate. He tilts his head, so Scott can crowd into the nape of his neck and breathe. He knows the calming affect a familiar omega’s scent can give to a distressed alpha. It’s nothing beyond instinct and everything to do with friendship.

 

In a few moments, the tense lines smooth away and Scott pulls back with a sheepish expression. “Sorry.”

 

“No worries.”

 

“Haven’t had to do that in a while.”

 

After Scott’s father left, when the McCalls moved into Sunshine Way, Scott needed his scent just to fall asleep, tears on the chubby eight-year-old cheeks.

 

“You’re right, Stiles. We’ve got each other; and that’s more than enough. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

**___________________**

The microwave beeps loudly, getting Derek’s attention. He takes the small bowl of gravy out with mitts and sets it on the table near Cora’s plate. They’re sitting at the kitchen bar, neither of them up to the task of setting the dining room table.

 

“Thirty seconds isn’t long enough!” Cora doesn’t look up from her phone. “Derek, you should start doing ads on your Instagram! You can make a lot of money.”

 

“Like we need it.”

 

“You can never have enough.”

 

Derek pours gravy over his mashed potatoes and slices off a piece of the rotisserie chicken for Cora first and then himself.

 

“Small portions, Derek! Are you trying to turn me into the stuffed turkey we don’t have? You know I have a fitting for the charity event!”

 

“Cor, it’s thanksgiving, can you tear yourself away from social media for two seconds?”

She wrinkles her nose. “We’re eating take out in sweatpants, Derek, if I focus on this, I’ll get depressed.”

 

“Just hurry up and eat so we can go see Sawyer. Laura says visiting hours are strictly enforced.”

 

Cora rolls her eyes but sets the phone down. She spears a piece of chicken with her fork. “I can’t believe she has a kid now. It’s hard to picture.”

 

“She took care of us just fine.”

 

They eat in silence and Derek lets his mind wander.

 

No matter how much he tries to not think about it because it leaves him feeling raw, he can’t help but remember before, when his Oma was alive. _The holidays felt like the holidays_. Some memories are hazy, but his Oma is clear as day. Heath Sawyer was a handsome omega, blue eyes, square jawed with dark blonder hair. He was elegant and confident enough to catch his father’s eyes, and hold it. He wasn’t a small Were, at 6’2” he was tall by omega standards, brave enough to serve their country in war when his station would’ve excused him.

 

Saywer’s got the eyes of her namesake.

 

“What’re you thinking about?”

 

“Oma.” Derek replies honestly, and Cora’s expression gets pinched. “He loved Thanksgiving.”

 

“Father doesn’t seem to care about any holiday.”

 

Both Hale children received a duplicate, perfunctory text from their father at an awkward 3 AM wishing them a joyous holiday and providing the name of caterers commissioned to make them a meal.

 

“He wasn’t…” Derek recalls his dad being just as enthusiastic, helping them make multicolored hand print turkeys to hang for decoration and lifting Derek up so he could sneak some tastes from the desert bowl. “Oma’s death changed him.”

Cora doesn’t look convinced and Derek can’t blame her. She only remembers the now. It might be better that way.

 

“I’m going to get changed. We should head over to the hospital.” Cora dumps her mostly full plate into the trash. “See the future president of the USA.”

Derek waits until he hears the click of her door being shut before he sends Stiles a text.

 

 **Derek** : Happy Thanksgiving, I hope it’s a good one.

 

He looks around the empty apartment, takes in the quiet and the stack of white containers the food came in. It’s nothing like the commercials on television, nothing like what his classmates talk about. There’s no laughter or loud voices, no family crowded around a packed table exchanging stories and thanks.

 

Stiles responds almost an hour later. Derek’s in the maternity ward at Lycan General, rocking his newborn niece while his sisters talk about horrifying birth things when his phone vibrates.

 

It’s a picture.

 

A long table laden with a half-eaten turkey, green beans, ham, pie, biscuits, baked potatoes, salad and macaroni. He can’t see faces, just hands and half of Stiles’ father’s face.

 

 **Stiles** : You too, man.

 

Derek smiles, traces his thumb over the photo.

 

 **Stiles** : Guess who’s not doing the dishes.

**Derek** : I miss you.

 

Derek sends it before he even knows what he’s doing.

 

He regrets it instantly.

 

 **Stiles** : Don’t tell me you’re horny at dinner?? We can meet up tomorrow.

 

Sex. It always comes back to that, but Derek thinks he should be grateful, better Stiles thinks he’s horny than pining.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**___________________**

Scott’s ears are bright red and they only get like that when he’s pissed or upset about something. Stiles is willing to bet money it has something to do with Allison.

 

Since he came over, Scott’s parked himself on the giant bean bag that sports a puncture wound from fifth grade when they stabbed it open to find out what was inside; secretive as hell. He’s also been on his phone for the past hour, leaving Stiles to fend for himself in COD.

 

Well, him and some twelve-year-old beta in Indiana.

 

“Scott!” Stiles watches his character implodes in horror. “Dude! _Help_ me. What are you even doing?”

 

“I’m busy.” Scott mutters, hunching in on himself further. “Just stay out of sight, s’not even hard.”

 

“What are you looking at?” Stiles tosses the game controller and grabs Scott’s phone out of his hands. He groans. “Ugh! We agreed, no Instagram, especially not after the shit show at school.”

 

Scott growls, lip curled down in disgust. “But do you see what _she_ posted?”

 

This is never good.

 

Stiles sighs, scrolling through her timeline. Allison has posted four pictures. It’s all the shiny plastics in one place, dressed in slinky grey outfits and draped in fur -hello! Cruelty to animals- and diamonds. Probably the bloodiest blood diamonds available.

 

“A stupid party?”

 

“Yeah but look who she’s with!”  Scott jabs at the screen with his finger, irately, hitting their smiling faces. “Fucking _Warren Prescott_.”

 

Vaguely, Stiles recalls the quiet alpha. Warren wasn’t much for the crowds and he didn’t join in on the bullying, but his zipcode afforded him a social status. “Didn’t he graduate last year?”

 

“Back for break probably.” Scott looks miserable, flops back down on the bean bag like a dead fish. “Remember they went on a few dates?” How could Stiles forget, it was senior prom and Scott had nearly had a breakdown. “Guess they picked up where they left off. It’s such bullshit. What does this guy have that I don’t?”

 

A trust fund?

 

“Sorry, man…” Stiles trails off as he looks closer; beyond Allison and Warren’s faces he can see Derek. The alpha has one hand braced against the wall, and he’s leaning down speaking to someone. It’s his turn to gape. Stiles would recognize him anywhere. Kent.  Fucking beautiful, perfect and omega prototype Kent. “Uhm, you should…”

 

“I _should_ get over it already, I know, but I _know_ there’s something there. When we danced together, and she looked at me, it felt like… I thought it would change things.”

 

“She was drunk.” Stiles absently responds, scrolling through more pictures. He goes on FaceBook and hits the motherload.  Allison must’ve uploaded all the pictures she had, likely to make everyone forget the tagged pictures of her and Scott. Bitch.

 

“I don’t think she was! I don’t know why people are saying that, or why she’s saying that.”

 

These pictures are clear. Derek. He’s smiling, arm slung around Allison. The bastard is dressed in black sweat pants and a tight black Henley.  He looks tired but still looks so fuckin good.  And oh god, he’s wearing his glasses, the thin black frames do such unholy things to him.

 

Stiles hates himself for appreciating the thick lines of muscle outlined through the fabric, the impressive dick print through his sweats.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles looks at the date; guess this is why Derek hadn’t been able to meet up last night. Fuck. The next photo is of Derek and Kent. They’re squeezed together on a leather recliner. Kent snuggled up under Derek’s arm, hair tousled the way only people in magazine can tousle their hair, like he belongs there.

 

It’s one thing to hear Cora insinuate it, but it’s another to fucking see it. 

 

Derek doesn’t owe him anything.

 

Logically, Stiles knows that.

 

This thing they have is supposed to be sex, convenient and easy but it fucking makes him want to throw up to see another omega stake such an obvious claim.

 

Especially one Stiles knows Derek cares about…maybe even loves.

 

And Derek said he missed him.

 

Bullshit.

 

Because how can you miss someone like Stiles- scrawny and loud and fucking uncoordinated- when you had Kent the model laying all over you? You don’t.

 

“You alright, man?” Scott must’ve gotten up at some point because he’s standing directly in front of Stiles. “You look sick.”

 

“Uh.” Stiles rubs his eyes, trying to cover the prick of stupid, stupid tears. He hurriedly closes the app and hands Scott his phone. “Just tired.”

 

“Don’t even try it.” Scott pulls him close to ruffle his hair, laughing when Stile shoves him away. “C’mon, we should get started on the shed before your Dad gets back.”

**___________________**

Derek’s day started out with a shitty hangover, and he assumed it would end much the same way. There really isn’t a lot to do over break. It’s not like he can show up to Laura’s house every day.  She has her own family now and he doesn't want to intrude. Consequently, he’s been dragged out to parties with Cora. 

 

Last night, Kent unexpectedly showed up to Allison’s.

 

A _month_ before he was due to be released from rehab. 

 

Fucking typical.

 

It’s always the same; the promises Kent doesn’t mean and reassurances that are cheap. Derek ended up drinking too much to deal with it. Thankfully, he’d been sober enough, however, to not let Kent accompany him home.

 

So yeah, shit night, but Derek was pleasantly surprised when his phone buzzed near noon and Stiles asked to meet up. Excited even.

 

Derek is already seated at their booth, eyeing the circus figurines and munching on some fries when Stiles comes into _Jo-Jo's_. The omega looks like he also spent the night partying, wearing worn black jeans, laces undone on his converse and a graphic tee under a blue and green flannel.

 

His scent is light and clean, that sweet undertone that pulls every comforting.

 

And just like that, the butterflies arrive.

 

“Hey.” Derek grins like an idiot, he stands before he realizes what’s he’s doing, and they do an awkward dance when Derek goes in for a kiss and Stiles turns his head. “Been awhile, you look good.”

 

The look Stiles gives him is pure venom.  Derek sits back down, confused. Irma-who apparently works every shift- comes over and takes their order. Because he’s feeling gross, Derek gets fried hot dogs and three cheese mac n cheese, which earns him a nod of approval from Irma. Stiles gets his regular.

“So, how was thanksgiving?” Stiles shoves Derek’s fries into his mouth, squirting hot sauce on the pile aggressively without even asking. “I’m guessing you always eat dinner in your homecoming crown?”

 

“Why the hell would I ever do that?”

 

Stiles holds up his phone and Derek groans. Cora’s Instagram. There’s a photo of him sitting at the dining room table, _not from thanksgiving_ but from when Laura was over a week before. Cora had plopped the stupid gold singlet on his head and told him to smile, Derek of course, flipped her off.  

 

The result, he looks like an arrogant douche.

 

The photo is captioned: “happy thanksgiving to my loyal subjects.”

 

Fucking Cora.

 

“Cora put that on me as a joke—”

 

“Ok, King Derek.”

 

“You know what, I like the sound of you calling me king.”

 

Now it’s Stiles turn to blush. “You’re an idiot.”

 

That’s the end of the stellar conversation, and by the time their food comes, they’ve been sitting in relative silence. Stiles shoves food into his mouth like this meal will be his last and Derek picks at his hotdog wondering if his ‘I miss you’ text made everything this weird.

 

“You shouldn’t believe what you see on social media, by the way.” Derek makes a mental note to make Cora take the picture down the moment he gets back home. “Everyone on there is lying.”

 

“Even you?”

 

“I don’t have anything to really lie about.”

 

Stiles hums in response, foot tapping under the table. “You know Allison has a picture of you up on Instagram, with, uhm…some guy.”

 

“Some guy?”

 

“I think his name is Ken or something.”

 

“ _Kent_?” Derek grimaces, picking at the label on his can of coke. He kind of recalls the flash of her camera but honestly, most of the night was a blur. He’d been drunk, overwhelmed by Kent and missing Stiles enough to ache. “Yeah he’s in town.”

 

“Cool, cool.” Stiles sounds like he thinks it’s the opposite of cool. “So…you guys were together for a while, right?”

 

“On and off for a bit.” Derek wavers, then decides to tell the truth. “Two years.”

 

“So it _was_ a date.”

 

“A date? We were at a party.”

 

“There were a lot of pictures online—uh, Scott showed me.”

 

“I knew Scott was obsessed with me.”

 

“Don’t even. They were on Allison’s.” Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “So, am I the other omega, or what? Is this going to turn into the plot of a Lifetime movie where he slaps me for being a slut at some point?”

 

“Other omega? It wasn’t a date.”

 

“Kent has pictures up too, just the two of you.”

 

“We’re just friends.”

 

“It said hashtag date night.”

 

“I don’t know why he would do any of that.”

 

“Why wouldn’t he? People take pictures on dates, and they post insanely stupid hashtags like #datenight, #truelove and #rainbowsandbutterflies.  So, everyone else feels like shit when they see it, you know? That’s how our generation works #killyourself.”

 

“We weren’t on a date.”

 

Stiles has stopped eating, and he fidgets with the button hole on his shirt. It hits Derek then that he’s genuinely bothered.

 

“Everyone thinks you were, and he got over 200 likes on it. So, you tell me.”

 

“Like I said: social media is filled with lies.” Derek gestures to what’s left of his fries. “Okay, you know what. Why don’t you post this?”

 

“This isn’t a date either.”

 

“Then why are you so bothered?” Derek knocks his foot against Stiles’, stopping the tapping. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

 

“I am not jealous!” Stiles is bright red now and sweating. “I would like to know where your dick has been, yeah, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask considering I have it in my mouth on the regular.”

 

“Right...”

 

“Shut up, Derek.”

 

“That’s _King Derek_ to you.” Derek beats Stiles to the check for once and Irma raises her eyebrows at the large tip he leaves. It’s rare that Stiles doesn’t ask for a box for the rest of the food. “Hey.”

 

Stiles looks at him expectantly, there’s a smear of ketchup on his chin. “What?”

 

“You know the only person I’m seeing is you, right?”

 

“I didn’t know.” Avoiding his eyes, Stiles heads for the door. “But ok. Thanks, I mean. I just. I need to know that this thing…it’s just the two of us…ok?”

 

In terms of a start, it’s shit, but Derek is willing to take what he can get. The realization that Stiles looks this way because he’s jealous, because he doesn’t want Derek with anyone else is addicting.

 

“Kent and I have been through for months.” Derek admits.  “He just wants attention.”

 

“What happened? You guys were the poster children for gay rainbow love.”

 

Derek snickers. “Except Kent’s got a thing for pills and a temper to match. He’s high most of the time, I couldn’t deal with always being on edge.”

 

“Were you guys, like… in love?”

 

Derek considers this. Things had ended so badly, he didn’t allow himself to ruminate on their relationship.

It's complicated, because they’d been friends for a long time before they started messing around, best friends even. Kent’s father worked with his Dad; it was expected. Derek cared about Kent, but they’d been doomed from the start. Even then, Derek had been unable to get the lanky freshman out of his head. Stiles was always someone who fascinated him, _held his focus_.

 

No matter who he was with.

 

“I love him like a brother.”

 

Stiles huffs, moving past him. “You fuck your brothers?”

 

Derek laughs and circles Stile’s middle, hauling him back. “Did I mention I like you jealous.”

 

“Dumbass.”

 

They stand awkwardly in the parking lot, neither moving to get into their cars but not speaking. An ugly thought springs into his mind and stays there. He knows Stiles would never go for someone like Kyle, but it stands that he’s attractive. Maybe this jealousy isn’t something to feel good about.

 

“Are you…” Derek tries to keep his voice level, but he can tell he fails when Stiles tenses. “You’re not fucking around with other guys, right?”

 

“Fucking around?” Stiles looks at him blankly but then laughs, doubled over.

 

“Stiles!”

 

“I’m sorry, but like…” He laughs even harder. “ _Who_ would I be fucking around with? I’m basically Jughead.”

 

“Don’t be a dick.” Derek catches him around the middle, nosing down the soft curve of the omega’s neck. He rubs until he can’t smell McCall anymore, until the scent is just them. He inhales, pressing a kiss to the rapid beat of Stiles’ pulse. This is what he’s missed the past few days, the sweet calm the scent brings, the warmth of Stiles beneath him. “I don’t share.”

 

“Is that an alpha thing?”

 

Irritation gone, Stiles’ fingers slide through his hair, pulling Derek closer. Derek smiles, shifting closer until Stiles opens his legs so he can slot between.

 

“It’s a me thing.” There’s no one around, there never is. So, Derek kisses him, slow and deep against his car. “Do you have to go home?”

 

“Work.” There’s small bruise right below his collarbone, Derek remembers sucking and kissing at the delicate skin there, wanting to mark it. “I can’t wait until my shifts over. I’m fucking tired.”

 

“You work at that Italian bakery, right?”

 

“Yup.”

 

Derek hasn’t seen Stiles all break, he doesn’t want to give him up just yet.

 

“Is it cool if I stop by, I have some studying to do and—”

 

“People could see you.” Stiles at least looks regretful. It still makes Derek feel hollow. “And,uh… Scott’s coming in anyway.”

 

Derek will always be second to Scott, another alpha taking precedent with the omega he’s courting. Irrespective of what Stiles thinks this is, Derek has tunnel vision. He is _courting_ Stiles in the old fashion way—not dating, not fucking around— wants him as his mate.

 

“Hey.” Stiles touches his cheek and Derek jerks away, fuming.

 

Fucking McCall.

“Derek.”

 

Derek raises a brow.

 

“Put the angry eyebrows away.” Stiles kisses him this time, soft and insistent like he knows Derek is a fucking spineless alpha who will give in. He gives in. “We have twenty minutes before I have to go.”

 

Derek grunts in response, letting Stiles kiss down his neck. He feels drugged by the omega’s scent, it should scare him how quickly Stiles can dominate him in this way.

 

“Wanna park somewhere, King Derek?” His slim hand disappears between them to cup Derek’s cock firmly, rub him to hardness at the inseam of jeans.  “Let me serve you?”

 

Derek inhales sharply. “You’re not playing fair.”

 

“Fair wouldn’t be any fun.”

**___________________**

AP Grammar is usually uneventful; you diagram sentences and read books that battle for relevance, and then the bell rings. The best part of this class, besides being the only junior in it, was the fact Stiles got to oogle Derek on the regular.

 

Derek who swears he’s only seeing him.

 

The past week has been like something out of a fantasy. Cora hasn’t caught him alone once, Kyle was suspended for pants-ing some poor freshman and Stiles has successfully snuck out to meet Derek nearly every night.

 

They haven’t had full on, cock in ass, sex. Yet. Not for Stiles’ lack of trying, hell when he’s straddling Derek’s lap, hard and grinding down on the alpha’s fingers thrusting deep into his wet hole; he’s even downright begged. But Derek has this idea that Stiles’ first time needs to be more than a back-seat quickie. Idiot.

 

In the middle of Stiles’ daydreaming, Mr. Pewter begins dividing the class into pairs for the midterm project.

 

“Mr. Stilinski and Mr. Hale, you’re assigned to _Paradise Lost_.”

 

Instantly alert, Stiles looks in Derek’s direction. To his credit, Derek looks bored, and shrugs.

 

It feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

 

Stiles has been handed a gift: the excuse to see Derek after school, and he doesn’t have to lie to Scott.

**___________________**

**“** I’m gonna throw up.” Scott drops his lunch tray with a heavy thud. “I’m gonna be sick.”

 

“Oh stop, he’s not that bad.” Kira rolls her eyes. “And you say I’m dramatic!”

 

“He’s a Hale!”

 

“Easy on the eyes, too.” Kira comments wistfully, picking at her green beans.  “What’s the matter Scott, jealous?”

 

“ _Jealous_?” Incredulous, Scott waves his arms around like a flappy bird. “I feel bad for Stiles, if anyone hates Derek more than I do, it’s _him_. How are you going to stomach it?”

 

“It’s my midterm.” Stiles replies lamely, because he can’t say that he’ll be spending the majority of his time sucking cock and taking it. “I need a good grade.”

 

“He’ll probably make you do the entire thing on your own! Then steal credit for all of your work!”

 

That’s not going to happen. If it’s one thing Stiles has learned, from whatever it is he has with Derek, is that the older boy is not only super intelligent but also a control freak. It doesn’t matter that Stiles is just as smart, Derek will want to be involved in every step of the final product. Type-A personality.

 

A shadow falls over the lunch table and Kira’s mouth falls open, she looks like she’s about to have a heart attack.

 

“Stiles.” Derek’s smile is all teeth. Adorable bunny teeth. “What do you say we meet after school? Get started on the project.”

 

Scott’s fuming.

 

**___________________**

They don’t go to the library.

“You want anything to drink?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, looking around in awe.

 

It’s no mansion on the hill but damn. No teenager should live like this. The high-rise condo had been impressive enough from the outside, but the penthouse is insane. The colors are all James bond neutral and beige, appliances chrome and steel, exposed brick in the living room and high ceilings.

 

“You live here?”

 

“Most of the time.” Derek comes out of the kitchen with two waters, hands Stiles one before heading down the hall. “Follow me.”

 

Mouth dry, Stiles follows to the end room. He locks the door behind them.

 

Derek’s bedroom. Stiles drinks his entire glass of water.

 

It’s huge like the rest of the place, floor to ceiling windows, a California king bed right smack in the center. A nice, big bed where Derek can ravish him alpha style, do what he wants with him. His entire catalogue of _Pornhub_ runs through his mind as he imagines exactly what Derek will do to him.

 

Stiles gulps, arousal tingling down his spine. They’ve never been alone like this, and he’s desperate for it.

 

“W-where’s your Dad? Isn’t he going to come back from work?”

 

That makes Derek laugh for some reason. “Out of the country.”

 

“What about Cora?”

 

“She stays in the apartment across the hall usually, but she’s staying with a friend for the night.” Derek takes the empty glass from Stiles hand, sets it on the table before he leads to the foot of the bed, easing him backward to sit down.

 

When he does, Derek drops down to his knees. He inches Stiles shirt up, licking the soft skin above his groin, smiling when Stiles shivers.

 

“Don’t be scared.”

 

“I’m not.” Stiles lies, he’s nervous as fuck. “Just cold.”

 

“We can stop.” Another kiss, right below his belly button and this time Stiles yelps at the soft scrape of his teeth. “Anytime you want.”

 

“Don’t you dare, Hale.”

 

When Derek pulls Stiles’ zipper down, reaches into the slit of his boxers, he’s already hard, drops of pre-come gathering at the tip of his cock.   

 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Derek praises.

 

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s hair is tight, it must be painful, but he can’t loosen it, especially when the alpha licks a slow stripe up the shaft, sucking the tip into his hot mouth.

 

“Never get enough of this, baby. Of you.”

 

Holy shit, he knew Derek was a talker, but he never knew how much of a thing he had for being called ‘ _baby_.’ The heat of the word, the raspy silk of Derek’s voice makes him nearly come.

 

Stiles’ keeps his eyes firmly shut, body taut and pale thighs trembling as Derek starts a slick, dirty rhythm, taking Stiles’ length all the way into his mouth, feeling him at the back of his throat and swallowing around the spongy head. He will never get used to this, no matter how many times Derek has had him in his mouth.  

 

It goes on for several agonizing minutes, Stiles barreling towards an orgasm as Derek moans around his cock, sucking and making these obscene slurping noises that only intensify his slick and scent and—

 

Derek pulls off.

 

Clumsy, Stiles tries to pull him back in. “W-why’d you stop? Do you want me to punch you?”

 

“You’re only coming one way tonight.” Derek gets off his knees and rips his clothes off, powerful muscles rippling. It’s the first time Stiles has seen him completely naked and his heart thuds at how big Derek is, how strong and imposing. “And that’s with me fucking you.”

 

Stiles swallows in anticipation and fear, his gaze traveling down to Derek’s swollen length. He’s going to lose his virginity to Derek Hale. This is not a drill.

 

When Derek moves over him, Stiles is dwarfed by his bulk, pressed down into the mattress as his mouth is taken in a vicious kiss. Stiles gives as good as he gets, hands gripping over the alpha’s broad back, down to his ass to grind him down on his wet cock. Stiles is leaking slick steadily now, he knows the smell of it must drive the alpha insane, and Derek’s hungry kiss attests to that.

 

“Baby.” Derek says again, moves down his chest to lick teasingly at Stiles’ pink nipples, rolling the hardened nubs against his tongue and biting down gently until Stiles is crying out, offering himself for Derek to nurse.

 

But then Derek pulls away, retrieving lube and a condom as Stiles lies back against the pillows, heart thundering, inviting Derek in with shy eyes as he lets his legs fall open. He obliges, fingers slick and prodding experimentally at Stiles’ hole.

 

“More.” Stiles moans, knees drawn up to his chest.  “I can take another one, alpha.”

 

“You played with yourself here, baby?”

 

Stiles nods, panting.

 

Derek pushes in a second finger. “Thinking of me?”

 

“Always you.” Stiles is delirious. He can feel himself stretching around Derek’s fingers, it feels so good, and he knows that Derek’s cock will feel even better. He doesn’t care if it hurts anymore, he feels needy, and he knows only Derek can stop that ache deep within him.

 

“Sh, baby. It will be easier this way.” Derek kisses away Stiles’ protests and moves him onto his stomach before positioning himself behind him. Shaking, Stiles raises himself up onto his hands and knees. “I’ve waited so long for this…thank you.”

 

The words wash over him. Stiles grips the sheets, twisting the fabric in his hands. He feels Derek’s latex covered cockhead against his open hole, the head catching on his slick rim before it forces it’s way in slowly, inch by thick inch.

 

It burns more than he expects, and Stiles tries to breathe through it, tries to relax, but can’t help the whimper that escapes him. It hurts and he tries to get away, but Derek holds him immobile, arms locked around his waist as he continues to rock forward.

 

“It’s okay, baby, just relax, let me in…” Derek kisses his neck, breath punching out in short bursts. “So good for me.”

 

They moan simultaneously when Derek bottoms out, balls against his ass.

 

“Don’t move!” The pillow is damp beneath Stiles’ cheek, he’s impaled, body thrumming as emotion crashes down on him. “Just...”

 

Derek waits.

 

He murmurs nonsensical comforts whispers hotly against his ear about how good he feels, how tight his hole is, what a good omega he is as his cock stays firmly inside of Stiles, waiting for him to adjust.

 

It’s the baby that gets him, Stiles sighs at the word, the thick scent of the alpha surrounding. His inner muscles clench involuntarily at the praise, and Derek groans, hips skittering forward to push his cock deep. They both moan, and Derek presses his forehead down between Stiles’ shoulders, fingers running down his sides to stroke Stiles’ flagging erection.

 

“Tell me I can move.” Derek’s voice is hoarse, like he’s in pain too. “Please, baby.”

 

“Anything.” Stiles pushes back, mewling at the sharp pleasure mixed with pain. “Anything, alpha.”

 

Derek fucks Stiles slow at first, short almost gentle strokes but as Stiles opens under him, around him, he plunges in deeper, hauling him back to meet his hips.

 

When Derek pulls out, Stiles collapses forward.

 

“Turn over.” Derek’s voice is hard, commanding and Stiles does as he is told, fumbling unto his back. Derek’s fingers skip down to graze over Stiles’ open hole.

 

It’s the single hottest and most embarrassing thing. Derek is looking down at his hole, already flushed a deep pink with use, gaping for cock. His expression is dark and primal with unadulterated hunger.

 

Emboldened, Stiles spreads his legs wider, exposing himself entirely to the alpha.

 

Derek curses and shoves back inside of him hard enough that Stiles must bite down on his shoulder to stifle a scream.

 

“I want to see you lose it, want to watch you come.” Derek ruts, bracing a hand on the bed as he slams in deep. “Mine.”

 

His thrusts are uncontrolled, frantic, drawing grunts and groans from them both. Stiles can only hang on, pleasure engulfing him, later he’ll be mortified at how he’s moaning and whimpering and crying out, but for now, all he can do is _feel_.

 

The friction is sweet torture, he can feel Derek swelling inside of him, hot and hard even through the condom. He wants to feel him, all of him, without the barrier, wants to be filled with his seed—

 

Stiles shouts when Derek starts to jack him roughly. Derek crowds close, teeth grazing his collar bone, nearly breaking the skin-- and Stiles is coming, choking out his name as he feels Derek’s knot begin to swell.

 

Derek’s beautiful when he orgasms, head thrown back, corded muscles of his neck straining around Stiles name.

 

______________

 

“Whoa.” Stiles pants, inhaling a shaky breath, hands moving up and down Derek’s back marveling at the defined muscles. He can feel Derek’s trembling, the jerk of his cock still nestled deep inside of him as he continues to pump come into the condom. “That was... Whoa.”

 

With obvious effort Derek raises himself unto his elbows. “Whoa, huh?”

 

“Don’t let your head get too big, I have no one to compare you to. You could be shit for all I know.

 

Derek smirks, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I’m not.”

 

Stiles blushes, suddenly feeling very shy as every lewd gesture and noise plays back in his mind. “Get out of me and get off me. I want to go shower. I’m all sticky.”

 

“Don’t think so.” Derek rolls his hips and Stiles’ eyes widen as he feels Derek grow inside of him. “Don’t think I’m done with you just yet.”

 

**___________________**

 

Stiles wakes several hours later, stretches and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Muscles he didn’t even know existed protest loudly.  He feels very sore, the weight of Derek’s heavy arm prohibiting him from leaving the bed.

 

It’s his first official day as a non-virgin.  

 

He totally got fucked by Derek Hale.

 

Stiles smiles up at the ceiling around a yawn. He turns under Derek’s arm until he’s facing the sleeping alpha, careful not to wake him. Derek’s snoring lightly, his hair disheveled. Stiles blushes at the hickeys that litter his chest.

 

Feeling sentimental, Stiles runs his fingers over the dark stubble of Derek’s cheek, down his jaw and over his lips.

 

Derek’s eyes open, green and vibrant in the dawn’s light.  “Huh.” He mumbles, and Stiles imagines horrific scenarios where Derek kicks him out or yells at him for staying, but then Derek smiles, pulls his arm tighter around Stiles. “Morning.”

 

“Good morning.”

 

Everything feels so weird.

 

“Time is it?” Derek’s voice is gruff with sleep and sends shivers down Stiles’ spine, reminding him of last night’s rounds of hot sex. “Early?”

 

“Around six.” Stiles replies. “I should be going?”

 

“Probably.”

 

Derek doesn’t let him up.

 

“Gotta move, big guy.” Stiles wiggles then stops. Derek’s morning wood is pressed against his hip, hard and insistent. He’s tender, of course he is, but he can’t help the hunger that rises in the pit of his stomach.  “Someone else awake too?”

 

“Jughead.” There’s no heat to the word; Stiles is certain he’s imagining the affection. Derek rolls Stiles over unto his back, settling between his legs fluidly. He rocks his hips forward, and Stiles flinches when the head of his cock rubs against his sore hole. “You ok?”

 

Stiles nods, biting his lip. “Little sore.”

 

“Let me help you with that.”

 

Blushing furiously, Stiles watches as Derek scoots down the bed, presses an open mouth kiss to his knee, then inner thigh and finally his entrance. Stiles moans, eyes falling closed against the sun as arousal and shame war within him. This is nothing like they’ve done before, the sun is bright. He feels exposed and deliciously slutty. He comes in record time, clenching around Derek’s tongue and muffling his cries behind his fist.

**___________________**

Derek whistles as he pours himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Stiles had snuck out just seconds ago, leaving him with a lingering kiss in the hall and a smart tap to the ass. He grins at the memory; the omega never ceases to surprise him.

 

“Ugh.” Cora shuffles into the kitchen, face twisted in disgust. Derek nearly has a heart attack. “You have that gross look on your face.”

 

“What look?”

 

“You got some.” Cora makes a sound of disgust. “I could hear it. Why do you think I waited to come out until they left?”

 

“I thought you said you were staying at Lydia’s.” He sits down at the table. “I’ll try to keep it down next time.”

 

“There’s a next time.”

 

Derek shrugs.

 

“So, who is he?”

 

“No one.”

 

“Oh my god, Kent?”

 

“No, mind your business.”

Derek takes a bite of his cereal and considers whether he should tell her the truth.

 

Cora narrows her eyes, and before Derek can even think to stop her, she dashes over to the living room window. The one that overlooks the parking lot. Shit.

 

“Really, Derek?” Her tone is unimpressed and cold. “Stilinski?”

 

Derek panics, thinks of Stiles’ rule that no one knows. “You can’t say anything; to anyone.”

 

“Like I would embarrass you like that.”

 

“Cora.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t be a bitch. Stiles is—”

 

“He’s a _hook-up_ , Derek. I get it.”

“No.” Derek grits his teeth. He can’t be honest with Stiles, but he won’t lie to his sister. “I care about him. A lot.”

 

“You care about him so much that you’re hiding?” Cora pulls a face.  “Derek you’re not making any sense.”

 

“He doesn’t want anyone to know.”

 

“Bullshit.” She pauses. “Tell me the truth.”

 

“It’s complicated. Scott is—”

 

“Scott McCall, the little mutant who blames you for his shitty, insignificant existence?” Cora cackles, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh! This all makes sense now. Great job, Derek. McCall will never recover from this.”

 

Derek starts to protest, but then he thinks of the alternative. Cora telling everyone and Stiles never speaking to him again. He can’t go back to how it was. Not now.

 

“You won’t say anything? To anyone?”

 

Cora wiggles her pinky gleefully. “Pinky promise.”

**___________________**

It’s so fucking cliché but Stiles feels like he’s walking on air, no matter how much his ass hurts. He lets himself into the quiet house, grinning as he touches his bruised lips, remembers Derek’s mouth on his. If this was a Disney movie, Sherlock would be singing to him and they’d dance around the kitchen while he cleans.

 

Derek.

 

Just thinking his name makes Stiles flush hotly. He lost his virginity to Derek Hale. Insane. Stiles opens the fridge and pours himself some milk.

 

“Where the hell have you been.”

 

Stiles jumps in surprise, spilling his glass. His father is seated at the kitchen table. He hadn’t even noticed.

 

Like the guilty kid he is, Stiles squeaks. “I thought you had the night shift!”

 

“I switched with Garcia. His omega went into labor,”

 

“Uh….” Stiles can’t even hide it, he knows he looks debauched, reeks of Alpha. Shit. “Okay, well---”

 

“Where the hell have you been?”

 

“Nowhere.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Stiles! I was worried sick.” The veins on John’s neck are standing out, and Stiles knows his father is consciously trying not to yell. “I didn’t know what happened to you or—"

 

“I’m sorry, I got caught up at Scott’s.”

 

“Don’t lie to me.”

 

Stiles lowers his eyes. “I’m not.”

 

“I’m not an idiot, Stiles. I can smell an alpha all over you, and it’s not Scott.”

 

“Okay, so there may be a guy—”

 

“A guy?”

 

“Just a guy.”

 

“Who? How old is he? Where did you meet him? _I_ want to meet him.”

 

“This is exactly why.” Stiles huffs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Not a big deal?” This time John does shout. “You’re _sixteen_! You stayed out all night! Ignore my phone calls and tell me it’s ‘not a big deal.’ Try this on; you’re grounded; two months.”

 

“Two months?!” Stiles’ eyes widen. “That’s not fair—"

 

“What’s not fair is spending my entire night awake, worrying over my underage son.” John puts on his jacket—the light green uniform one for the condominium security guards— and Stiles feels sick when he realizes his father is going to work.  After being up all night. “We’ll talk more when I get back.”

 

“Dad, I’m sorry—”

 

“When I get back.”

**___________________**

In penance, Stiles cleans the house. He was going to do it anyway, but he really goes at it, even dusting his father’s old awards and doing all the laundry and vacuuming. Grounded or not, Stiles still must do the groceries and he splurges on red meat and brand name mozzarella for lasagna. His Dad’s weakness.

 

The house is already smelling of bubbling cheese and meat when his cellphone vibrates.

**Derek:** I’m stupidly happy

 

A smile comes to his face instantly.

**Stiles** : Why

 

Stiles leans against the kitchen counter, fingers going to his lips. For once he dislikes how quickly Weres heal, the bruising has already faded. He wants to feel Derek for so much longer, to have it last through the upcoming school week.

 

 **Derek** : You know why

 

 **Stiles** : Do I?

 

 **Derek** : I’m so fucking happy we had sex.

 

 **Stiles** : There it is

 

 **Derek** : Are you alone? Can I call you?

 

Stiles knows he should say no; he's already so fucking happy at the thought of speaking to the alpha and he shouldn't be. 

 

This is too much, too fast...too intense.

 

But he can't help himself. 

 

 **Stiles** : Yeah

 

**___________________**

**ErmegredSTI posted a photo.**

 

Immediately, Derek clicks the notification link.

The picture is of a pile of french fries, half finished with hot sauce dripping down the side into the basket. Derek can see elbows on the table behind the shot, he knows they're his, but no one else would. It makes him smile. He feels like a little kid, to be so thrilled.

Then Derek sees the caption and flat out starts laughing, earning him a frantic glare from Laura when Sawyer wakes up.

**#rainbowsandbutterflies**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOT SUGAR AND HASHTAGS.
> 
> I'm sorry guys, but highscool first love A/B/O is so, so sweet to me.
> 
> ALSO it's me, guys, i LOoOoVE when Derek calls Stiles baby--it's my Kryptonite.
> 
> Next chapter will be fluff and angst and just horrible sadness.
> 
> What do you think is gonna make it all implode....lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a la Pretty in Pink

“How long are you grounded?”

 

“To infinity and beyond.”

 

“That bad?”

 

“Two months.” Stiles stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom, no, his prison cell.  The wi-fi password has even been changed. His father wasted no time and is so fucking thorough in his tyranny. “You have no idea, he was just sitting there in the dark, waiting to pounce when I got home.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yup.” Stiles has never seen his father so angry, then disappointed, and then embarrassed as he drove Stiles to the pharmacy to fill a birth control prescription. John is a human, doesn’t really know how to approach his omega son when it comes to babies, but he even stood there at the sink while Stiles swallowed the pill.  Which reminds him. “Uhm, but there’s good news.”

 

“You’re going to sneak out?”

 

“Well, yeah that’s a given but even better… He, uh, went on a safe sex rant and got me birth control.”

 

There’s silence on the other end.

 

“So, we can…” Derek’s voice is gruff when he finally responds, turned on and it does things to Stiles’ insides. “Bareback?”

 

“Yeah…if you want?” Stiles shifts on the bed at the thought. He may be new to sex, but he already knows it’s something he wants to have a lot more of. Especially if it’s with Derek and his big dick.  He can feel himself getting wet. “Nothing between us.”

 

“Can you get out tonight?”

If only.

 

His father is working the day shift for the next week. A fact he smugly relayed to Stiles over a mostly silent breakfast of cold cereal.

 

“I can’t.” Stiles swallows hard, trying to ignore how wet with slick he is, briefs dampening. Deliberately, he skims his fingers down his stomach, into the waistband on his sweat pants. “But I wish…” His breath hitches when he touches the sticky head of his cock.

 

Before he can stop it, a soft moan escapes him.

 

A quick intake of breath, and he knows Derek caught it. “Are you touching yourself?”

 

There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah...”

 

A muffled curse and Stiles can imagine Derek’s face, dark with hunger and eyes sharp with want. He thinks of how he looked when he came, hot fucking hot. Stiles had felt so powerful, like he held the world between his thighs.

 

“What I wouldn’t do to be with you right now.” Derek is saying. “I’d…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’d take care of you.”

 

“H-how?” Stiles squeezes his length, closing his eyes as he lets the sound of Derek’s voice wash over him. “Tell me.”

 

“Let me show you.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Video call.”

 

“I don’t know…” Stiles blushes, squirming at the thought of letting Derek see him that way, which is dumb because Derek has seen him up close and in living color. “It’s…”

 

“It’s what, baby?”

 

“Embarrassing…?”

 

“It’s hot.” Derek assures him, plea in his voice. “C’mon…”

 

“Okay.” Stiles decides, what the hell. “Hold on.”

 

Before he calls, he hastily sets the scene.

 

What is sexy and what is just an awkward fail?

 

Stiles feels like he may be toeing the line when he pulls his briefs down half way to his hips. He notices too late that they’ve got cartoon dogs printed all over them and they’re old and worn. Despite this setback, he tries to look sexy, positioning himself on his knees. He thinks of taking off his underwear entirely then decides to keep them on, let Derek tell him when to undress. Let the alpha have control.

 

Stiles nearly falls off the bed at the loud knock on his door. He has just enough time to duck under the covers before his father comes in, hand out. He’s never been more grateful his father is a human and can’t sniff phone sex pheromones out.

 

“What?” Stiles snaps, face red. “I’m here, being grounded, aren’t it?”

 

“Give me your cellphone.”

 

“What?” Stiles scrambles, his one link to the outside world. “Why?”

 

“You’re grounded, that means no cell phone, no computer.”

 

“That’s un—”

 

“Unfair.” John finishes tightly. “Yes, I know. You’ve let me know what you think several times. Now, hand it over. You’ll get it back for the school day only.”

 

It’s Saturday.

 

Stiles won’t be able to speak to Derek, even coordinate a meeting until Monday. 

 

And they’d be in school, where they don’t even speak; his stomach clenches.

 

The weekend looms ahead of him like a nightmare.

 

“I can’t believe this.” Stiles huffs, but without a choice, he makes sure the phone is locked and hands it over. “This is insane! I don’t deserve this. I’m responsible, aren’t I? I do the dishes, and I organize the bills, and—”

 

“That’s not going to work.”

 

Stiles presses his lips together.

 

“I’m not going to read your messages.” John slips the phone into his pocket. “Or invade your privacy. So, don’t worry about that.”

 

“Oh, wow.” Stiles says sarcastically. “Thanks.”

 

Stiles and his Dad don’t fight, not really; it’s not beneficial to get mad at the only other member of your family, but the tension is thick between them now.

 

“I’m doing the best I can.” John says quietly, back turned. “You can be upset with me all you want Stiles, but this is for your own good.”

 

Stiles is still pissed. “Bullshit.”

 

That gets his father angry enough to go. Good.

 

John strides over to the door, but then pauses. “I know you’re angry but any alpha worth his salt—any one that had good intentions _and respected you—_ wouldn’t have you sneaking in and out of the house. I’m doing this for your own good.”

 

“You’re not going to be able to lock me up forever.”

 

“Don’t tempt me.”

With that parting shot, he’s gone, closing the door to Stiles’ prison.

** _________________ **

 

It’s Sunday evening.

 

Derek looks up at the brown slated sign of the bakery, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He’s checked repeatedly that no one is around, no one they know anyway. Hell, he’s been here two times today and once yesterday. He figures that Stiles’ father took his phone away when his call never came and his texts went unanswered.

 

Monday is too far away.

 

Stiles hadn’t been working yesterday but today, luck is on his side.

 

Through the window, Derek watches Stiles wipe down a table, filling a grey bin with dirty dishes and crumpled napkins methodically. He looks fantastic in light jeans and a plain white t shirt covered by a green apron. His hair is long enough now to hang over his forehead.

 

Derek walks inside the bakery, wincing at the obnoxiously loud jingle of the bell above the door. Something settles inside of him when he scents the younger Were.

 

Stiles glances at the entrance casually, and then stops, eyes going wide and nostrils flaring. “Derek.”

 

“Hey.” It’s over the top, to come here, to need to see him, and yet, here he is. “I uh—”

 

“I’m taking my break!” Stiles yells into the back room, and then grabs Derek’s hand. He pulls him out the side entrance which opens into a secluded, narrow alleyway.

 

Before Derek can say a word, Stiles is kissing him, forcefully and filled with so much hunger it takes Derek’s breath away. He isn’t the only one.

 

“Fuck.” Derek slides his hands down Stiles’ back, squeezing his small, firm ass. “I missed this.”

****

“Ditto.” Stiles bites at his jaw until Derek takes the hint and kisses him again. “You have no,” Kiss. “Fucking Idea,” Another kiss. “How badly.”

 

“When do you get off work?”

 

Stiles groans, licking his lips. His hands are busy tearing at Derek’s belt. “Dad is picking me up.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“I know.” Stiles pulls away, pushes Derek back against the wall. It’s nearly dark out and they’re hidden mostly behind a dumpster. He drops to his knees. "Just let me.”

 

Not like Derek is going to resist.

 

Derek’s head falls back as Stiles’ hot mouth engulfs him, licking and sucking eagerly. He loves that Stiles isn’t practiced, that he gags when Derek fucks his mouth and has spit running down his chin. Stiles sucks cock like he loves it, squeezes his aching knot to make the pleasure linger. His hand is down between his own legs, jacking himself off quickly as he hollows his cheeks and makes Derek come. Derek stands gasping, biting his lip to keep from making noise as his knees go weak. But Stiles holds him up, presses his forehead against Derek’s thigh and bites down as he comes over his fingers.

 

Derek is still dazed when Stiles tucks him back into his boxers, biting a hickey into his hip, before he stands.

 

“Good?”

 

“Not bad, Jughead.” Derek tugs him close, until they’re chest to chest. Stiles lips are pink and soft, eyes gleaming amber in the dim light. His fingers slip under Stiles’ shirt, stroking over the soft skin of his lower back. Stiles shifts into the touch, eyes never leaving Derek’s.

 

Stiles nose wrinkles and pinches his hip. “Enough with the jughead.”

 

“Anything you say, baby.”

 

Like clockwork, a warm pink suffuses Stiles’ cheeks. “I like that…”

 

“When I call you baby?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Baby.” Derek says again and Stiles smiles. “Baby, baby, baby ohhh, like Baby, baby, baby nooo—”

 

“You idiot.” Stiles laughs, pressing his fingers over his lips. “Although, I’m not surprised you listen to Justin Beiber, not with your playlist.”

 

“I know you’re a _Belieber_.”

 

Stiles grins, then pulls away after another kiss. “My break is up.”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“It’s a bakery, all sales appreciated; tips are even better.”

 

“I’ll give you just the tip—ow!” Derek laughs, stopping Stiles from punching him again. “But listen, I have my lap top in the car.” The smile slips on Stiles’ face and Derek knows the answer, but he still asks. “I can work on my paper here, maybe actually start our midterm.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles face twists up. “I’d like that, but, Kira and Isaac—”

 

“They hate me too?”

 

“They don’t hate you. I just…It would make things complicated, alright? I don’t want that. It’s not what we are.”

 

Derek wants to punch the wall, but he’s not a kid and he can’t throw a tantrum. He takes a level breath, watching Stiles’ watch him uneasily. The omega leans into him when the silence lengthens, flattens his hand against Derek’s chest in a calming movement.

 

Fucking weak is what Derek is.

 

He sighs, covering Stiles hand with his own. “So when can I see you?”

 

“We have school tomorrow.”

 

“You know what I mean, and it’s not like your guard dog would let me get within two feet.”

 

“Don’t call Scott a dog.”

 

“And yet he called me an asshole three days ago."

 

“I work after school, on Wednesday,” Stiles draws Derek’s head down, tucks it into the curve of his neck. It’s a ploy, that’s what it is but he can’t resist. Derek inhales greedily, letting the scent of clean linen and fresh baked bread wash over him, expand and grow. “I’ll cut out early and we can drive to our spot?”

 

“I guess.”

 

It’s the first time Stiles has done this, offered himself in comfort. The none sexual gesture is somehow more intimate then Stiles’ blow job.

 

Lightly, Stiles pulls back, and Derek feels adrift.

 

“See ya.” Stiles heads back inside with a small wave.

 

Either Stiles can’t see Derek’s bothered, or he doesn’t care.

 

** _________________ **

It’s a no-brainer.

 

When Derek corners him after third period Tuesday and asks if he wants to skip out the rest of the day, Stiles doesn’t even think. He just goes. He’d been imagining a freaky afternoon, fucking like bunnies or something but it’s been the opposite.

 

Before speaking to the alpha, Stiles assumed Derek would be monosyllabic and full of shit. _Me alpha, you omega_. But he’s been proven wrong a hundred times over. They do start the midterm, read a few chapters and Derek has profound insight and cares about the direction and _tone_ of their work. They talk a lot; sometimes about _Paradise Lost_ but mainly about other things. Sometimes as deep as Derek’s father pushing him to go into politics or as bullshit as _Rick and Morty_.

 

“Tiny Rick!” Derek crows in delight when he sets down their tray of food. “You said you’d pause it!”

 

And somehow, that’s hotter than actual sex.

 

Almost.

 

They’re in the middle of _Pretty in Pink,_ right at the scene where Andy is chasing down Blaine when Stiles realizes that they haven’t fooled around. That’s what fuck buddies do. They meet up and get down and dirty and then go their separate ways. They don’t spend an hour making chili and watching eighties movies and cartoons.

 

There should be a blow job or something happening right now.

 

Those are the rules.

 

Otherwise.

 

Otherwise they’re _dating_ and that’s an entire level of betrayal that Stiles cannot get into. That would mean he likes Derek, as a person, and not just a hot body.

 

With that in mind, Stiles slides his hand up Derek’s thigh to cup him through his sweats.

 

“What?” Derek looks confused. He has taco spice breath and he’s still sexy.  “You love this movie.”

 

“I love your dick more.”

 

Derek frowns, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “You sound like a low rent porn star.”

 

“Shut up, I’m sexy.”

 

“No complaints here.” Derek still pauses the movie though and Stiles laughs.

 

“Looks like I made a Molly Ringwald believer out of you.”

 

“Where’s my blow job?”

 

“Sir, yes, sir.” Stiles mocks salutes, before moving down to his knees to get to it.

****

** ______________ **

****

****

“It’s such a relief to be out of the house!” Laura skips into the pizza place ahead of them, throwing the doors open with flourish. “Derek, oh my god, the cheese! All of the cheese!”

 

Derek rolls his eyes, but Cora looks mortified when other diners turn to gape at the crazy woman pressing her nose against the glass display like a child.

 

Laura has been super excited to go on her first baby free outing. They haven’t seen much of her understandably and Derek knows Cora is feeling it more than he is. She’s close to Laura, the age difference making her more mother than sister. It’s a different dynamic now that Laura _is_ a mother and can’t give all her attention to them.

 

They get a quiet table in the back, near the focal stone fireplace. Their father would hate a place like this, loud and filled with children. Laura loves it.

 

“I have officially under estimated my ability to be a stay at home mom.” Laura blows her bangs off her forehead. “I don’t know how Oma did it.”

 

“It’s been a _month_.”

 

“And I want to go back to work!” Laura continues, opening the menu, eyes lighting up. “Wine! All the wine! Do you guys feel like a Malbec?”

 

“Please stop being so weird.” Cora grouses, pursing her lips. “Mommy-hood has made you unstable.”

 

“Just wait until you get a little angel who keeps you up all night.”

 

“As if.” Cora replies. “No kiddies for me. Ever.”

 

“Well then, Derek’s.”

 

Cora snorts. “Derek doesn’t want kids.”

 

Derek shrugs, looking at her sharply. He doesn’t know where she got that idea from. “Laura, if you need me to keep Sawyer for a night, I can deal.”

 

Laura gets misty eyed. “Aw, you love her.”

 

The waiter brings over bread.

 

Derek curses his luck. Or lack of it.

 

Today of all fucking days.

 

Scott McCall is avoiding all eye contact as he sets down hot rolls, little carved plats of butter and fills their glasses with ice water.

 

Cora looks like she won the lottery. “Oh no, we don’t drink tap water.” She sets her phone down, smile saccharine sweet. “Sparkling for the table.”

 

Laura frowns, stopping Scott when he tries to take her glass with a smile. “I’m fine with tap.”

 

Derek clears his throat awkwardly. “Me too, just some lemon.”

 

“And bring three cups of hot water.” Demandingly, Cora flips her hair over her shoulder. “We’re going to need to disinfect our utensils.”

 

Scott’s face is blotchy red, but he simply nods, likely because his manager is walking around. It’s a big deal to have the senator’s wife.

 

Because Laura is the only one giving him an encouraging look, he speaks to her only. “Good Evening, welcome to _Pizza Paradise_. My name is Scott, and I’ll be serving you—”

 

“Obviously you’re here to _serve_.” Cora cuts in. “We need time to look at the menus. You can run along and get the water now.”

 

With a nod, Scott walks away, and the table is silent. Laura stares at Cora, but their sister is too engrossed applying pink lip gloss as she skims the menu to care about her disapproval.

 

“Cora.” Laura finally says, her earlier excitement is gone. “What was that?”

 

“What was what?”

 

“You were so rude to the waiter!”

 

“Oh him? No, we go to school with him.” Cora says like that explains everything. “It’s nothing.”

 

Laura looks at Derek. “Is this boy an enemy of yours or something?”

 

“No, he’s just someone I go to school with.” Derek repeats defensively.

 

“That’s bullshit.” Cora interjects. “Scott hates Derek, he tries to pick a fight with him every day. It’s so pathetic! Especially because he’s trash.”

 

“You’re getting _bullied_?!”

 

Derek would laugh at the question if she didn’t look so serious. “No, Laura. It’s just bullshit, he doesn’t like me, I don’t like him.”

 

“Wait, Scott _McCall_?” Laura says. “Conrad’s son?”

 

Derek frowns. “Why are you acting like you know him?”

 

“Because Conrad McCall—"

 

“You think I’m bad, Laura.” Cora continues, talking over her. She points at Derek. “You should hear about his side project.”

 

Laura really looks concerned now.  “Derek…”

 

“He’s romancing the Stilinski omega, so official—"

 

“I’m not doing _anything_.” Derek snaps, glaring at his sister. “Cora, shut up.”

 

Remarkably, Cora does. She doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the meal, and no one comments when a new girl, Sara, comes back with sparkling water and introduces herself as their waitress for the evening.

 

Laura stops him at the door when they get home at the end of the night. Cora barrels inside ahead of them, leaving them alone. She looks worried.

 

“You’re not doing anything you shouldn’t, right?”

 

Derek shakes his head.

 

“Because it sounded like you were using an omega to further a grudge.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

Laura leans back against the door frame, studying his face intently. “I can smell him. Who ever he is. So, don’t lie to me.”

 

“I’m not lying to you.” He waits a beat. “But I am seeing someone.”

 

“But not in the _She’s All That_ kind of way?”

 

“No.” Derek feels the word vomit coming and for once he doesn’t have to stop it.  He wants to have someone to talk to about this, because Stiles? Is incredible. “He’s really, uh…he’s great; funny, smart and…I don’t know, refreshing? He’s so creative, you know? Like he sees things in a way I never could.”

 

“You like him!” Her face softens. “Aw, Der!! You really do.”

 

“I really do.”

 

“When can I meet this guy?”

 

“Stiles.” Derek corrects quietly. “His name is Stiles.”

 

“Stiles.” Laura grins. “That’s nice. And such a relief, I knew I couldn’t have raised two assholes.”

 

Derek snickers. “You just call Cora an asshole?”

 

“Good night.” She pats his cheek. “I’ve still got to talk to her about dinner.”

 

“Good night.”

 

“And don’t go to sleep straight off, I have to have the safe sex conversation with you!”

 

“Laura, you’re an idiot.”

****

** _________________ **

****

****

“Fucking bitch.”

 

“Whoa.” Stiles raises his eyebrows as Scott slumps down in the seat across from him. He has a feeling he won’t be able to finish his questionable Salisbury steak and potatoes. “Tell me how you really feel.”

 

“I made varsity soccer, remember?”

 

“Uh, that’s a good thing—”

 

“I saved for my letter jacket, all summer!” Scott rushes on. “They came in today and we all had to go to the equipment room while they handed them out. All teams were there.”

 

“And?”

 

“Cora Hale.”

 

Stiles stomach goes queasy, he knows this won’t be good. “What’d she do?”

 

“She told everyone about how coach...helped me out, in front of the entire lacrosse team. I looked like a charity case.”

 

Stiles can only imagine his humiliation. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I worked all summer, and was still $30.00 short…so Coach gave me the difference.” That part Stiles didn’t know. “But I paid for the jacket myself.”

 

“I know you did.”

 

“And fucking Jackson…” Scott deflates, anger leaving him. “They all laughed at me. Even Allison.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he listens until Scott wears himself out, picking at his lunch. Kira and Isaac are gone on a field trip for the day, so he’s all Scott has. He can feel how hurt Scott is, and it makes him hurt.

 

Worse, he’s the only one available to keep Scott calm.

 

Midway through the lunch hour, the pelt of food starts. Scot’s head whips up, and Stiles tries not to look as nervous as he feels. When he looks over Cora’s staring at him, whispering something to Allison behind her hand. His stomach drops.

 

“Hey charity case!” Jackson yells, nudging Kyle so he’ll join in. “Not going to wear your little jacket? Not even after you blew coach for it?”

 

Scott is out of his seat like a shot before Stiles can stop him. The lunch monitor is absent.

 

This could get ugly.

 

Scratch that, Kyle is here.

 

This _will_ get ugly.

 

“I’m not a charity case.”

 

Jackson snickers, leaning back on the lunchroom table. “Whatever you say, mutant.”

 

“Not denying the bending over for coach, are you?” Kyle sneers, mouth open. He looks the mutant. Honestly. “How’d it feel?”

 

“Fuck you.” Scott snarls, shaking off Stiles’ hand. “I paid for my jacket, like all of you.”

 

“Not according to my records.” Cora says loudly, tone almost bored but Stiles knows better. He can see how excited she’s getting from this, how much pleasure she gets from Scott’s growing mortification. “You were thirty dollars short, even after scrubbing all those toilets.”

 

“Thirty dollars?” Jackson roars with laughter. “I think Coach Evans over paid for that ass.”

 

They’re gearing up for a round, Stiles can feel it, like the rest of the silent lunchroom can.  The alphas are squaring off. It’s fight or flight, and any alpha would stand their ground.

 

They’re outnumbered, and it would be reckless and stupid—

 

“How much does your mom charge, McCall?”

 

Scott slams his fist into Jackson’s face, the crunch of bone breaking echoing loudly to the Weres. Jackson howls, hand flying up to stem the rush of blood.

 

Stiles’ heart thuds in his chest when Kyle leaps over the lunch table, barreling into Scott and sending them both flying backwards. He pushes his way to the grappling alphas, grabbing Kyle by the back of the hoodie to pull him off.

 

Jackson is getting up, he can hear him snarling and Scott is already at the disadvantage. Kyle lets go of Scott to turn on Stiles hauling him up off his feet. Stiles winces, closes his eyes and braces himself for pain—

 

He’s set on his feet.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Derek’s –who came from nowhere, beautiful, beautiful ninja that he is-has Kyle dangling, one hand twisted in his blue sweatshirt as his feet scramble for purchase against the linoleum floor. For his part, Kyle loses all his bluster. “Answer me.”

 

“That fucking _mutant_ —”

 

“We have a game Saturday.” Derek voice cuts through the chatter like a whip. All anyone can register is dominant alpha. “Do you want to get benched? Do you want to ruin _my_ _fucking_ _season_?”

 

Kyle shakes his head, frantic. His lip is bleeding, swelling. “McCall—”

 

“I don’t give a fuck about him.” Derek throws Kyle back, and he collides with the table, Jackson breaking his fall. Derek turns his rage on both. “I’ve worked my ass off for a championship, and you two want to fuck with that, for what? A fucking pissing contest.”

 

Jackson and Kyle are silent.

 

Derek turns away, surveys Scott who is still on the floor, nose bloodied and Stiles crouching next to him.

 

Derek’s eyes stay on Stiles for a moment, and Stiles doesn’t know where to look.  He’s filled with a nauseating mix of gratitude and anger. The treacherous part of him, the shameful part, wants his alpha. But that will never happen.

 

Stiles doesn’t know when he started thinking of Derek as his.

 

“If I hear one word about you picking fights with McCall…or anyone else…” Derek trails off in threat. “You won’t have him to deal with, you’ll have me.”

****

** _________________ **

****

Wednesday couldn’t have come soon enough. They’re spread out under the clear night sky, in a secluded spot, laying atop a soft blanket Derek packed. Music is playing softly from his phone.

 

From the corner of his eye, Derek soaks in Stiles’ profile. His eyes are closed, mouth parted as he sleeps. He can’t shake how he felt when came into the lunchroom and saw the impending fight. Seeing Stiles like that… vulnerable and afraid, and all those fucking people just watching. His sister among them.

 

Stiles snuffles in his sleep, and Derek’s chest expands. He can’t keep his hands to himself. He moves slowly to his side and leans over, touches his cheek and kisses the bridge of his nose to wake him.

 

Amber eyes blink open and when Stiles sees him, he smiles.

 

“Hi.” Stiles yawns, unguarded. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

 

It makes Derek feel ten feet tall.

 

In lieu of an answer, Derek rubs the back of his fingers, down Stiles’ chest, toying with the strings of his red hoodie before leaning down to brush his lips over Stiles’ parted ones.

 

The omega lets out a small sound that Derek eagerly drinks in, hands moving up to cradle his finely boned face, holding him captive while he plunders. His mouth moves over Stiles’ hungrily, tongue sliding between his lips to explore the sweet taste, to map out every crevice and suck on his tongue. Stiles likes that. Derek relishes every shudder and labored breath he draws out him, returning his soft moans with his own growls.

 

He loves the way Stiles moves against him, under him, the way his hands work into Derek’s short hair and tug at the strands to draw him closer.

 

Eager for more, Derek drops his weight between Stiles’ thighs and for a few excruciatingly hot moments, rubs his stiff cock into the hot space between his legs. 

 

“Past that.” Stiles swats at him. “Not going to come in my pants.”

 

Fumbling, Derek jerks off Stiles’ jeans, lifts him up so his skinny legs straddle his hips. Stiles is already wet, slick coating his hand when Derek fingers him.

 

They don’t even need to use a condom.

 

“Come on.” Derek thrusts up, the head of his cock nudging Stiles’ hole. "Grab my dick and put it up your ass.”

  

“Oh god, yes, yeah.” Stiles reaches behind him, one hand wrapping firmly around Derek's thick cock as he sinks down. His mouth parts, and his eyes squeeze shut as a guttural moan escapes him.

 

It’s enough to make Derek come then and there, the hot, slick heat gripping his cock with painful pleasure.

 

Derek doesn’t move, holds himself still as Stiles gets used to the stretch.  

 

Stiles’ hair is plastered against his head, lips bitten red- it’s too much.

 

The heat, the intensity, it scares the fuck out of him. Stiles lifts his hips experimentally and moans into Derek’s mouth when his cock hits his sweet spot. This feels so intimate, to be staring into Stiles’ eyes as he rides him, to share his breath as the pace engulfs them.

 

It’s over before it even starts. Stiles gives him no quarter, no room to last as he sets a frantic pace. Derek’s breathing heavily, pressing frantic kisses to Stiles’ temple and cheeks, whispering words of encouragement. He pushes up Stiles’ shirt to his armpit, mouth latching on to a small nub, teasing it into a peak while Stiles moans above him, grinding down on his hardness.  Derek steadies his movements, rotating Stiles' lean hips in small, controlled circles so that the head of his dick is pressing persistently against Stiles’ prostate.

  

Stiles comes with a hoarse cry, his head tossed back, neck exposed to Derek’s teeth. It takes every ounce of self-restraint the alpha possesses to not bite down on the inviting curve, not to shove the omega down unto his knot and tie them together.  Instead, Derek continues to pound into him relentlessly, fingers leaving bruises at his hips and all Stiles can do is hold on, his head bent, gasping for breath, sweat trickling down his neck. 

 

Finally, Derek comes, spurting hot come deep inside. His lips find Stiles’ in a soft kiss, a gentle contrast as he continues to spill into his hole. They wrap around one another, trading slow kisses and fighting off the night chill. Neither seem to want to let go.

 

At least that’s what Derek tells himself.

 

The car ride back to Stiles’ Jeep is silent but not awkward, just the silence of two people reflecting personally. When they reached the dark parking lot of _Jo-Jo’s_ , Derek steps out to open passenger side for Stiles, walking him to his car.

 

They stare at each other for several moments in the moonlight, Stiles’ clutching hands playing with the lapel of Derek’s jacket anxiously.

 

Derek reaches out, lightly hooking his finger in Stiles’ belt loop, pulling him forward a couple of steps until he’s flush against him.

 

“Get home safe.”

 

He wants to be able to drive him home.

 

He wants to have the right.

 

Stiles smiles but looks indecisive, “I…”

 

“I know.” Derek says against Stiles’ mouth, coaxing him gently. “Just tell me goodnight.”

 

“Night.”

** _________________ **

****

When Stiles leaves his last class of the day, he finds Scott waiting.

 

“Can I come over today?” Scott asks, leaning against Stiles’ locker. “Isaac and I are going to get a jump on the History take home. Three heads are better than one.”

Stiles hesitates, thinking of Derek. If his smoldering texts all through English are anything to go by, he’s in the mood. Honestly, Stiles is too. This whole thing with Derek is new and shiny and Stiles is addicted. Plus, with his newly imposed prison sentence, he won’t have any other opportunity to see Derek this week if he waits. His dad is going back to the day shift.

 

Hot sex on a platter or history homework? No brainer.

 

“I uh…I really can’t.”

 

Scott’s face falls. “Come on man, we haven’t hung out in weeks.”

 

“I’ve been working, and the midterm project takes up a lot of my free time. Plus, you know I’m grounded.”

 

“Fine, whatever.”

 

“Okay, you can come over.” Stiles relents. He hates disappointing his best friend. Besides, he needs to start his atonement.  It’s true, he’s been relatively absent from his friend’s life and that’s shitty. “But you have to tell my Dad.”

 

Scott beams. “Great, we can order pizza!”

 

“Meat lovers?”

 

“Is there any other kind?” Scott ushers him down the stairs. “Are you ever going to tell me what you did to get John so pissed?”

 

“Never.”

** _________________ **

Isaac and Kira are waiting on Stiles’ porch when they pull into the driveway. Stiles can already imagine the shit show that will await him when his father finds out he had a bunch of people over.

 

“Scott!”

 

Scott grins. “Relax, I let John know.”

 

“And he was okay with it?”

 

“Well, yeah, just had to remind him that it’s the anniversary of my Dad’s…you know.”

 

“Shit.” Stiles is the worst friend. He’s never forgotten before. “I’m so sorry, man, I didn’t remember.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Scott climbs out of the car. “Let’s just to hang out, forget about it for a while.”

 

They don’t order out a lot, mostly because its stupid expensive, but when they do _D’angelos_ pizza is the best. The slices are as big as Stiles’ head and they don’t skimp on the toppings. They ordered two boxes, and chicken wings. The restaurant threw in a molten brownie cake.

 

It’s been over two hours and they haven’t even cracked open their history book.

 

“Dude, Mia Campbell dropped out last week!” Isaac says. “She got mated, remember? Well, now she’s pregnant.”

 

Kira’s eyes are wide. “So soon?”

 

“I think that’s normal, when you mate.” Isaac replies, trying to hide the fact that he’s eaten more than his share of the brownies. “Unless you go on a strong birth control.”

 

“Still.” Kira says. “I can’t imagine having a baby at sixteen.”

 

“Your mom had you at fifteen.” Scott reminds. “I think it’s romantic.”

 

“Because you want to have babies with Allision.” Isaac retorts. “Which is a lost cause.”

 

“It is not!” Scott crosses his arms over his chest. “And I don’t want anything with Allison.”

 

“Anyone want the last slice?” Stiles doesn’t like the way this conversation is going. It’s one thing to bullshit about sex when you can brag about all the fucking you’re doing but Stiles must keep his secret. “Or want to split it?”

 

“I bet you’re still a virgin.” Isaac laughs, poking Kira. “Saving yourself or some shit.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” Kira whacks him with a pillow. “Like you can talk, saving yourself for Jason!”

 

Isaac turns bright red, and Scott starts laughing.

 

It hits Stiles then, that he is in fact, the first of his friends to lose their virginity and he can’t even talk about it. Brag about it.

 

“I bet Jason knows what he’s doing in bed, like he really knows how to work you over—”

 

“Kira!” Scott interrupts, shocked. “Seriously?”

 

She shrugs. “Everyone fantasizes.”

 

The front door opens and Stiles gets up from the table to corral Sherlock before he makes a break for it. He scoops up the dog and is surprised to see not only his father, but Melissa as well. Her eyes are red rimmed, like she’s been crying.

 

“Hey.” Stiles looks between them uncertainly. “Is everything ok?”

 

Melissa gives him a tight smile. “Would you let Scott know it’s time to go?”

 

Stiles nods, looking at his father hesitantly. “What’s going on?”

 

“Stiles.” John interrupts gently. “Go get Scott.”

 

** _________________ **

Scott calls near midnight.

 

Stiles is shaken awake by his father, who hands him his cellphone. His best friend sounds a wreck, Stiles can barely understand him through the crying. Scott’s always been a sensitive alpha, meaning he doesn’t subscribe to the macho bullshit.

 

If something hurts him, he lets it show.

 

Melissa’s been fired, effective immediately.

 

“What are we going to do?” Scott keeps asking, over and over. “How are we going to pay the rent?”

 

Stiles doesn’t have the answers, there’s nothing he can say.

 

That night, Scott comes over, crawls into bed with him like he used to when they were kids. And like before, Stiles pretend not to notice the tears.

**________________________**

Come Monday, Scott’s varsity jacket, the one that costs him months of overtime is hanging in jagged red and white strips in his locker.

 

It’s been slashed  beyond repair, strips fluttering.

 

Ruined.

 

Laughter sounds down the hall. They turn to see Kyle watching them, doubled over in hysterical laughter while his friends mime scissor motions with their hands.

 

“Scott, don’t—”

 

But he’s already taken off running, Isaac following. Kyle as bold as he is, is stupid. He looks surprised when Scott slams into him and takes him to the floor. The cowards—Kyle’s flunkies—jump right on top of Scott, dragging him off, punching and kicking

 

It’s not even something he has to think about, Stiles drops his book bag and runs into the fight head first, fueled by adrenaline--because holy shit he knows he can't fight-- as he punches another beta who’s hitting Scott in the back. He’s punching anything eh can reach, just trying to protect Scott and the chants of _fight, fight, fight_ grow around them.

 

Pain explodes on Stiles’ cheek, and water blurs his vision, another blow to his midsection and he’s on the floor with Scott, trying desperately to fend off blows that only keep coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get real, real.
> 
> OK. I didn't plan this to be a cliff hanger but the chapter just got too damn long. Don't worry, next part is already 80% done, and i have to warn you. That's where it really hits the fan. So this chapter is like the bitter medicine before the shot to the head.
> 
> let me know all your thoughts... and your fury :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a la Romeo and Juliet

 

 

When Laura mentioned Evan’s fundraiser breakfast Derek volunteered to watch Sawyer—despite it being a school day and his sister having a full staff available. Laura didn’t put up a fight because she knows he’s got the GPA to miss a few days of school.

 

Derek’s spent most of the morning swimming laps in her heated indoor swimming pool while Sawyer napped. His toes are starting to wrinkle when he finally climbs out and changes into jeans and a tee shirt. Maryann has a cup of coffee—black, two sugars— and a chocolate croissant waiting in the sunroom. Derek eats the snack at the bay windows. The sprawling lawn and hedges remind him of playing hide and seek while his parents watched, often cuddled on the garden swing. His father would smile a lot back then, and hard enough that Oma would pinch his dimples.

 

Derek can’t remember the last time he saw his father laughing.

 

The Hale Manor where they once lived, now stands empty, occupied by only the live-in staff. Derek left as soon as his father built the condos and never looked back.

 

While it’s nice to have the penthouse, Derek loves it here. Laura’s house as big as it is, feels like a _home_. He’s been fussed over by no fewer than five people since he arrived. Their father never kept staff on long enough for any to show them real affection. Not Laura; she’s had the same housekeeper since she moved in with Evan. Derek imagines Sawyer growing up here; happy.

 

Presently, Sawyer is sound asleep in her swing, snoring louder than any infant should be able to. It reminds him of a home video of Oma and Cora, she’d been curled at his belly, about six months old and snorting in her sleep. Oma looked at the camera, eyes glittering with amusement and although his father isn’t in frame, his loud laughter can be heard.

 

Derek smiles wistfully at the memory.

 

Maryann catches his smile as she runs a dust cloth over an already spotless picture frame. “I know that look.”

 

“What look?”

 

“Feeling broody?”

 

“I’m eighteen!”

 

She laughs, pointing the duster at him. “That’s not an answer.”

 

Derek ducks his head under the pretense of dusting away crumbs, flushing. He’d be lying if he said he never thought of having a family of his own.

 

What he won’t ever admit though is that when he can’t sleep or when he’s daydreaming during a workout, he thinks of Stiles… how he’d look with a belly or pup in his arms.

 

“Sawyer is cute.” Derek replies cautiously.  “But I’m going to Yale next year, then law school and then on to an MBA.”

 

“Is that your father’s plan or your own?”

 

Derek doesn’t answer; they both know the answer to that anyway.

 

“Well, when the time comes, I know you’ll be a good father.” She smiles kindly, moving on to the duster. “You know, when Miss Laura told me you were watching the baby, I didn’t think you’d make it past an hour. I waited for you to ask for my help, but you even handled the dirty diaper on your own. _That_ is a sign, my friend.”

 

The mere mention of the diaper is enough to make him gag— he had to give Sawyer a bath, shit was all up her back and everything—Maryann doubles over in laughter at his expression.

 

The sound is enough to wake the sleeping pup. Sawyer gives a cry, blue eyes looking around to see if anyone is coming. She’s already a demanding one.

 

“Hey sweet lady.” Derek greets, catching her little hand with his index finger. It’s incredible how tiny and perfectly formed she is, the pale shells of her nails so delicate against his. “I don’t know what your mom is talking about, you don’t cry.”

“She does when the sun goes down.”

 

Derek turns to find Evan standing in the kitchen doorway, undoing gold cufflinks. Discretely, Maryann moves away to take Evan’s coat and briefcase.

 

“She transforms into a banshee.” Evan continues. “Figuratively, of course, she’s a Werewolf through and through.”

 

Derek forces himself to laugh along with the guy. It’s corny; Evan always is. He strikes Derek as someone who was never a kid, like those child geniuses that compete on Jeopardy and wear oversized blazers.

 

Cora calls him oatmeal, because he’s bland, blonde and boring. It’s sort of fitting, but oatmeal or not, the man loves his sister with everything in him. For Derek, that’s more than enough.

 

“How was the breakfast?”

 

“It went very well; I met several potential new sponsors.” He drops the cufflinks on the receiving table. “I’m afraid your sister was far less impressed, she fell asleep during Congressman Phillips speech.”

 

Derek chuckles, that sounds like Laura. “Where is she?”

 

“At the supermarket; she wants to cook you lunch.” Walking past him, Evan lifts Sawyer out of the cot, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Unfortunately, I’m working, Laura’s eggplant rollatini is supreme.”

 

“Nice, I’ll shoot Cora a text to come over.”

 

“That may not be the best idea.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Laura says they argued the other night,”

 

“They always argue.”

 

“This time is different.” Evan’s expression is uncertain, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “Has Laura spoken to you?”

 

“About?” Derek prompts when Evan doesn’t add anything further.

 

“Nothing.” With those cryptic words, he goes. “I’ll get Sawyer changed, you settle in for lunch.”

** _________________ **

The table is quiet except for the sounds of the children filtering in through the open window. Cora arrived midway through dressed for her 4 PM _Pure Barre_ class in yoga gear, hair in a sleek bun.

 

Cora hasn’t said a word past ‘hey’ and also seems to think it’s a liquid lunch. 

 

She’s on her third glass of wine.

 

“How was school?” Laura winces as Cora refill her glass, hand hovering over her silverware like she’s wants to reach over and snatch the bottle away. “You look tired, Cor.”

 

“Bags under your eyes.” Derek adds.

 

“At least I went to school.”

 

Derek shoves pasta into his mouth. He’s not going to take the bait.

 

Laura does. “Cora.”

 

“Boring! Ok?  School was boring.” Cora stabs at her eggplant, but never takes a bite. “Mr. Schulman is out with the flu, so my chemistry test was pushed to Monday.”

 

“More time to study.”

 

Cora’s mouth turns down. “It doesn’t matter, I always pass.”

 

“But you could do better than Cs.” Laura sighs. “I know how smart you are.”

 

“Why does it matter? I have a trust fund.” Cora challenges, expression blank. “Or did Oma not make arrangements for me?”

 

That gets Derek’s attention. “Oma left all of us a trust.”

 

“Yes.” Cora agrees, draining the remainder of her glass. “All his children.”

 

“Cora.” Laura’s voice is harsh, landing like ice water. It’s a tone Derek’s _never_ heard before. “You’ve had enough.”

 

Cora glowers, knuckles white on her fork. “Yeah, I have.” She stands up so quickly that her chair tips over, falling to the tile floor with a crash. “Derek, I want to go home.”

 

Sawyer starts crying at the loud noise, no one moves to get her.

 

“You’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” Laura declares before Derek can respond. “Derek, you go on ahead.”

 

Derek feels like he’s missing something, the way Laura and Cora are looking at each other. It’s like when they were younger; Derek caught in the middle.

 

“What’s going on?” Derek asks.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Melissa McCall was fired.” Cora glares, drapes her jacket around her shoulders. “And little Miss Perfect thinks that makes me the devil.”

 

“You know what you did, Cora. Hurting them isn’t going to make it better.”

 

“And what about me?”

 

Rubbing her temples, Laura takes a deep breath, and this time she sends the pleading look Derek’s way. “Go, Derek, let her sleep this off.”

 

Derek looks at Cora; her hair now hanging messily around her face, nails bitten to the quick. She’s far from the made-up socialite she strives to be.

 

He hesitates, he always does when it’s Cora.

 

“Derek,” Laura touches his arm. “Please don’t fight me on this. Please.”

 

Whatever Cora needs right now, he can’t give it. Maybe Laura can.

 

Derek leaves.

** _________________ **

****

“Limp dick packs a punch.” Isaac grimaces as he presses an icepack to his cheek. “I think he broke my nose.”

 

“At least the bleeding’s stopped.” Stiles slumps over in the plastic seat, watching the clock. He knows they called his father in, Principal Bullock said he’d do as much. “Count yourself lucky you’re an alpha, it’s going to take me twice as long not to feel like a punching bag.”

 

Scott looks at him, eyes instantly forlorn. “I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

 

“You should’ve done exactly what you did.” Isaac interjects, hotly. “They had it coming. It’s over now.”

 

“Is it?” Scott hangs his head, he’s got a cut on his cheek, dried blood on his jaw. “Do you really think they’ll let it go? It’s just going to be the same shit next week. And the week after that.”

 

It’s Isaac’s turn to look dejected.

 

Stiles can’t have that. He may be right, this may just be the start of a shit storm and they may never win the war but damn it- they won the fucking battle today.  They stood up for themselves, how the fight ended doesn’t mean shit in his books.

 

Feeling bad is for _tomorrow_.

 

Right now, while the adrenaline is still high, they should be celebrating.

 

“Did you see the look on Kyle’s face when Scott knocked him on his ass?” Stiles elbows his friend. “You looked like Captain America.”

 

“What was the super?” Isaac perks up. “Final Justice!”

 

Scotts smile is tiny, but it’s there. “I knocked out a cap. He’s going to be walking around with half a tooth.”

 

“As ugly on the outside as he is in here.” Stiles adds. “Plus, he needed help; that’s all everyone is going to talk about.”

 

Scott sits up straighter, pushing his hair away from his face. “I was just sick of it, you know?” He looks more like himself. “I can’t believe I knocked out his tooth though…”

 

“In front of Allison.” Isaac passes over his icepack. “Which is pretty bad ass.”

 

“Don’t even care about her.” Scott leans back into the chair, between Isaac and Stiles. He puts his arm around them. “You guys are the best friends anyone can have.”

 

Isaac snorts. “Don’t go soft on us now, Rambo.”

 

Stiles already feels the bruises forming, the pain heightening. “We’ll always have your back; it was nothing.”

 

“Not nothing.” Scott hugs them both. “You took a beating for me—well, _with me_. I love you guys; my ride or dies.”

 

“Where are we going?” Isaac automatically jokes. “Why do we have to die?”

 

They’re still laughing when the nurse opens the door, revealing the grim faces of their parents alongside Principal Bullock.

****

** _________________ **

 

It’s probably a mistake coming here, but Derek couldn’t help it. After leaving Laura’s, the thought of going back to an empty apartment depresses him. Everyone knows where Sunshine Way is, hard to miss with the gas station.

 

Smoke rises from the backyard adjacent to Stiles’ tract house— _Lucky Number 13_ , as Stiles called it—the smell of charcoal and grilling meat permeating the air.  Derek walks around back, just in case Mr. Stilinski is home, or worse Scott is over. He immediately spots Stiles through the first window.

 

Stiles is sitting at the edge of a twin bed, dressed in baggy red jersey and flannel pants rolled up as his knees as studies. By now, Derek knows Stiles only works Tuesdays and Wednesdays, if he does work after school. He’s home now, and Derek is now certain his dad isn’t.

 

The window is open, so Derek knows Stiles can smell him, but he doesn’t acknowledge him.  

 

Derek climbs inside anyway, nearly falling over when his jeans snag on a protruding nail on the ledge.  A giant bean bag breaks his fall and he lands in an undignified heap.

 

“Hey, didn’t you scent me?”

 

“You weren’t in school.” Stiles doesn’t close his book. “Hungover?”

 

“No, I’m laying off the hard stuff.” The team celebrated advancing to the championship playoffs, but Derek stuck to soda. “I babysat for Laura today.”

 

“Everyone was talking about your touchdowns.”

 

“Did you watch the game?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, still looking down. “I was working, and even if I wasn’t, why would I go?”

 

It stings. He wishes Stiles had been there, no one would’ve known it was for him.

 

“Your Dad out for the night?’

 

“Yup.”

 

“Wanna come over? Cora’s staying with Laura, so no worries there.”

 

“I’m not in the mood.”

 

“We don’t have to have sex.” Derek frowns, taken aback by the hard edge of his words. “ _Bojack Horseman_ marathon…”

 

The rest of the words die when Stiles looks at him and Derek gets his first glimpse of Stiles’ face. His heart comes to a painful stop in his throat.

 

The entire right side of Stiles’ pale skin is a mess of molted colors. The largest bruise high on his cheek, a mass of dark purple and blue.  There’s another at his mouth, yellowing right where it meets the pale mauve of his lip; the spot Derek’s kissed so many times.

 

The world tilts.

 

Derek feels sick, he clenches his fists, pulse racing, and all the while Stiles stares up at him with unreadable eyes.

 

“Who the fuck did this?”

 

“Scott got jumped.”

 

Derek’s stomach plummets. “He _what_?”

 

“Your friends.”

 

“I didn’t...” Derek grits his teeth, fighting for self-control. He _warned_ Kyle; He warned _them_. Why the fuck didn’t he go to school? “Are you okay?”

 

“I won’t be winning any beauty pageants, but whatever, right?” Stiles’ harsh laugh is humorless. “Not like getting the shit kicked out me is anything new.”

Derek growls at the words—at the thought— the sound harsh in the quiet room.

 

“Who did this?”

 

“Why are you acting so surprised? Like you don’t fucking know.” Stiles anger is directed at him—he’s angry with him. “Why _the fuck_ am I so stupid? You and your piece of shit friends… and your fucking sister! I’m sure you all had brunch and planned it to the last steel toed boot detail.”

 

Speechless, Derek stands there for a few moments, trying to process. He didn’t know about Scott. He would’ve stopped it, at least for Stiles sake, _especially_ if the omega was in the middle of it, but anything he says right now will be the wrong thing. He can see that in the way Stiles is looking at him.

 

And Cora.

 

Cora who fucking sat right next to him this afternoon and ate lunch without saying a word. _Boring_. She said school was boring today.

 

“I would _never_ ,” Derek shudders, sucking in a steadying breath. He keeps telling himself not to fly off the handle and demand to know who, to stay in control because Stiles needs that from him. “I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

 

Stiles remains quiet.

 

Derek holds his gaze, refuses to look away, and his composure slips, whiskey brown eyes welling with tears.

 

God, Derek never wants to see Stiles cry again.

 

Instinctively, Derek takes a step toward him, and Stiles shrinks back, flinching.

 

It hurts him more than anything.

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

No response.

 

Throat tight, Derek walks back over to the window; his hand shake when they land on the wood of the sill.

 

“I’m…” Stiles’ voice stops him, reed thin and broken. “They have everything. _Everything_. And yet still... it’s not enough. They have to make sure that we feel like shit every second of the day.”

 

Derek swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You’ll never understand what it’s like...” And now Stiles is sobbing, curled in on himself with his forehead to his knees. “To be treated the way we are, j-just for being who we are.”

 

Tears prick behind Derek’s eyes, something he hasn’t felt since he threw dirt on Oma’s grave, wind freezing the moisture on his cheeks.

 

“Scott has never done _anything_ to them; why not leave h-him alone?” Stiles hiccups. “I was so fucking scared, and he…Scott’s hurting, and I’m here …with you.”

 

Derek’s afraid to do or say anything else.

 

“I hate that about myself.” Stiles whispers, voice thick. “That I want to be with you.”

 

What can he say to that?

 

Stiles dries his eyes with the back of his hand, hissing softly when he hits the bruises. Derek feels volatile and anguished and doesn’t move until Stiles gets off the bed. The omega shoves a few clothes into his backpack, nose red and running, eyelashes clumped together with tears.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Derek repeats. The tears he’s been holding in break free, once he sees the bruises and swelling up close. He knows Stiles is in pain, it’s obvious from his stiff movements… it nauseating to realize that there are more, hidden under his clothes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

 

Stiles moves to stands in front of him, close enough that they’re toe to toe. Then he reaches up, swipes his thumbs under Derek’s eyes, sweeping away the evidence of his anguish.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

 

Derek nods, fighting to remain calm.

 

Slowly, Derek raises his hands, letting the skittish omega track his movements. The last thing he wants is to cause him more pain. When Stiles doesn’t move away, Derek cradles his face, tips his chin up gently and concentrates. It’s an intimate to do something like this outside of a mate ship or family, almost taboo, but Derek can’t stop himself. He did this before, when Cora was young and scraped her knee…he hasn’t done it since.

 

Drawing pain from another is debilitating, emotional…and Derek would do it ten thousand times over for Stiles.

 

Derek knows the moment it begins to work, Stiles’ eyes fly to his in surprise, mouth parted on a low gasp as his pupils dilate. The pain leeches into Derek’s own blood stream in raised black lines across his forearms and the relieved sag of Stiles slight body against his chest is a testament to how effective it is.

 

By the time it’s over, Stiles’ is near sleep, cheek pressed against his neck as he draws deep breaths.

 

“Come home with me.”

 

Stiles nods, eyes remaining closed.

 

** _________________ **

Stiles wakes to a tickle on his nose and too hot under the covers. When he moves to scratch the itch, he encounters Derek’s hand.

 

“Too early.” Stiles complains when Derek flicks his nose. “Stop, asshole.”

 

“I get why you’re grumpy.” A kiss to his forehead. “The bruises should be gone by the end of the week. I don’t remember much, but I know what I did accelerated Cora’s healing.”

 

Stiles closes his eyes. The previous day comes rushing back to him in unpleasant waves. He’d almost forgotten. Derek drawing the pain from his battered body left him feeling intoxicated, like morphine.

 

Still a little sore, Stiles rolls away from Derek and unto his back, looking up at the ceiling fan. He barely remembers getting here; he’d been a fucking wreck when Derek showed up to his house out of the blue.

 

Leaning over him, Derek asks, “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Peachy.” Stiles sighs, pulling Derek over him completely. “Like a bruised peach.”

 

“You want me to take the pain?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, relaxing into the heat coming off Derek. “Just stiff.”

 

The alpha is bracing his weight on his elbows. That doesn’t work for him. Stiles tugs Derek down hard, until he gets the message and presses down against him, knees on the bed in between Stiles’ legs. They lay like that for a few moments, Stiles running his hand up and down the smooth skin of Derek’s back rhythmically, letting his nails graze his sleep warm skin. He likes Derek above him, around him.

 

It makes him feel safe.

 

And last night, Derek had cried for him.

 

 _That_ Stiles remembers clearly; the glitter of the alpha’s eyes, and the translucent patterns over his cheeks.

 

The band of Derek’s boxers are blue and yellow, and Stiles slips his fingers underneath to palm his ass, until Derek’s slowing undulating between his spread legs, half hard with shallow breaths.

 

Stiles turns his head, nips and sucks at Derek’s collarbone.

 

“You’re hurt.” Derek reminds quietly.

 

“I want you inside of me.” It’s more than lust, Stiles needs this. “Just…go slow…be gentle.”

 

There’s no explanation for it, but Stiles _knows_ Derek won’t deny him anything right now. He’s right, Derek kisses him gently, avoiding hard pressure on his cut lip. He lets his eyes close when Derek begins to kiss and lick his way down Stiles’ chest, before sucking a nipple into his mouth.

 

It’s sensual, and decadent, Stiles arches into the caress, demanding more. And Derek freely gives, nursing like he has hours to do this, instead of minutes. Both of Stiles’ hands are in Derek’s hair, holding him to him as he squirms into the pleasure heightened by the bursts of pain.

 

Stiles moans, pliant when Derek skims down his ribs, carefully skirting his bruises and lifts his hips, fingers dipping down to sink into his slick heat.

 

“Fuck, I want you,” Derek moves up to Stiles’ mouth to steal what’s left of his breath, the swollen head of his cock nudging Stiles’ dripping hole, seeking entrance. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

 

The fervor, the foolishness, the yearning and the _more_ that neither are brave enough to put a word to. Derek makes him want things he has no right wanting. Isn’t that what they kicked and punched into him? The inferiority, the insignificance. He isn’t _good_ _enough_.

 

The thought makes Stiles whimper, and Derek stops the sweet torture of his movement.

 

“Am I hurting you?” There’s a crease at his brow, concern.

 

In response, Stiles slips out from under him, and moves to lay down on his left side, where the bruising is minimal, propping his head on the pillow. Accepting the silent invitation, he hears, then feels, Derek move behind him, his muscled chest pressed against his back.

 

Derek’s mouth finds the side of his neck, scatters kisses over his shoulder and neck as he fills Stiles up with his cock.  It’s unhurried, Derek’s fingers against the hollow of his hip, stroking and teasing. Stiles trembles, burying his face into the crook of his arm to stifle a groan as Derek begins to fuck him in deep strokes.

 

They’ve kicked the sheets off, the air from the fan doing little to cool their skin. Stiles loses track of time, allowing himself to be drenched pleasure.

 

With a grunt of impatience, Derek shifts, grips Stiles’ right leg at the knee, bringing it up to his chest so he slides in even deeper than before. Stiles is panting now, cock steading leaking pre-come as his insides twists and spark in intense pleasure, he wants to hold on to this feeling forever; to feel like this forever—but it’s over before he can even think of prolonging it.

 

“Come for me,baby.”

 

Stiles clenches down on Derek’s cock as his orgasm rushes over him and spurts of come spill out onto Derek’s sheets.

 

Emotion makes his eyes wet and he presses his lips together to keep a sob from escaping.

 

The breadth of Derek’s fingers against his thigh, how strong he is and how he’s never used that strength against him.

 

The realization devastates him.

 

He’s never been in love.

 

Is this it?

 

Derek keeps rutting into his over sensitized body, teeth grazing Stiles’ neck and sucking at the rapid beat of his pulse, leaving a new beautiful bruise amid the ugly ones.

 

The alpha’s rhythm falters, and Stiles sucks in a breath when he feels Derek’s knot inflating, catching on his rim as Derek’s thrusts shorten and grow frantic. They’ve never knotted; it’s not done in a casual relationship. Ever. But for an insane moment, Stiles wants it inside of him, wants to be tied together, nearly sobs when Derek pulls it out, letting the knot inflate outside of his body as he spills his seed deep.

 

Derek’s murmuring nonsensical praise through shaky breaths as wet heat fills him.

 

Stiles wonders if they both feel it.

 

They lay there quietly, catching their breath as the warm morning light spreads through the window.

 

“I didn’t hurt you, right?”

 

Stiles moves out of his hold, and Derek’s cock slips out of him. “Stop fishing for compliments.” Hiding a wince of discomfort, he pulls the sheets back over him, shoving Derek over to the wet spot. “I just need to sleep for five minutes.

 

“I’d like that but… if you don’t leave for home soon your Dad is going to catch you.”

 

That gets Stiles going, he throws the sheets back again. “Fuck my life.”

 

“You’ve got moles, you know.” Derek’s finger skitters across Stiles’ cheek to touch right below his ear, under his neck. “Here, and here… I never noticed before.”

 

“I am generally aware of what’s on my face.”

 

“Six of them.” Derek grins, mouth kiss swollen against his dark morning stubble. “Might just be my favorite things.”

 

“If your asshole buddies could see you now.”

 

“They’re not my buddies.” The playful tone is gone, but he continues tracing the curve of Stiles’ nose and the bridge of his cheek.  “And I want them to see me. With you.”

 

It makes Stiles’ stomach do back flips to know he’s more than a dirty little secret, but as quickly as the happiness comes, it dies. Scott would disown him. Scott would never understand. And Stiles can’t even blame him. He’s really fucked up.

 

Stiles moves his hand into Derek’s hair, the alpha watching him intently. Derek turns his head into Stiles’ touch, kissing his palm and something sweet expands in his chest. 

 

“I can wait until you’re ready.”

 

Instead of responding, Stiles averts his eyes. “I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

 

“Don’t do anything stupid at school.”

 

“It wouldn’t be stupid to beat the shit out of Kyle.”

 

“I never said it was him.”

 

Derek gives him a dark look.

 

“Ok, fine, it was.” Stiles grips Derek’s chin when he tries to turn away. “But more importantly, _I don’t want_ or need you to fight my battles.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Promise me.”

 

“I promise.”

 

“Ok. Thanks.” Stiles sits up, biting his lip when the worst bruise, the one across his ribs, sends a sharp pain down his side. Derek’s eyes _zero_ in on the flinch. “Because I’m trusting you.”

 

“Wait.”

 

Stiles tugs his jersey over his head. “What?”

 

“I made you breakfast.” Derek points to the nightstand where there is a serving platter set out. 

 

Stiles gives him a suspicious look, then walks over.

 

If his ribs weren’t killing him, he’d laugh.

 

The white bowl is filled with melted chocolate ice cream.

 

“Really, Derek? Chocolate ice cream?” He really shouldn’t but Stiles eats a couple of soup-y spoonfuls in between putting on his pants and finding his socks. He looks at the bedside clock. “At 6:30 AM?”

 

“Moose Tracks.” Derek has sleep lines on his cheek. “Your favorite.”

 

It’s true.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

Derek shrugs. “You must’ve mentioned it.”

 

Stiles is 99% sure he didn’t.

 

That feeling comes back again, the one that makes him wish the world was just the two of them.

 

Instead of trying to work through those thoughts, Stiles grabs his bookbag from the desk chair. “Remember your promise.”

 

“Yeah.” Derek mutters, he’s already pulling the covers back up to his chin. “I won’t do anything stupid at school.”

 

** _________________ **

Breakfast is awkward.

 

It may be the guilt that drives Stiles to pop four Tylenol and make banana pancakes. He has the table set by the time his Dad comes in from work. The argument between them is now left in the past.

 

Although John has no idea that Stiles snuck out, surprisingly the guilt tears at him.  No doubt, John thinks he spent the night recuperating from the fight, or with Scott. His father, while not thrilled to be called into school, had been proud of him for standing by his friend.

 

“You speak to Scott?”

 

“He wanted to be alone.” Stiles says through a mouthful of pancake. “Kira went by and saw him; he’s bruised up even worse than I am.”

 

“Well, I spoke with Melissa last night, and I think,” John wipes his mouth with a napkin. “ _We_ think it’ll be best if she and Scott stay here for a while.”

 

“They’re moving in?!”

 

“Their apartment is on a month to month basis. It doesn’t make sense to deplete her savings when we’ve got the spare bedroom. She can stay while we see about getting her another job.”

 

Stiles mind is racing, he didn’t even shower before breakfast the scent of Derek too comforting to wash away.

 

With Scott, a Were who _knows_ _Derek’s_ _scent_ living here…how would he keep that hidden?

 

Could he?

 

“How do you feel about that, son?”

 

Stiles bites his lip and then instantly regrets it because Louis’ fucking class ring cut it up bad. “That’s fine, Dad.”

 

He’s having a stage five internal panic attack.

 

“Yeah?” John ruffles his hair. “Melissa can have the spare bedroom, and Scott can bunk with you? Like the old days.  We can clear out the mudroom this weekend to make storage space? It will be tight but—”

 

“It’s fine.” Stiles squeezes his Dad’s hand over the table, sticky with syrup and all. “You’re a really good guy.”

 

John looks at him, surprised and it makes Stiles feel like shit because his father shouldn’t seem so shocked to hear something nice from him.

 

“I appreciate it.”

 

John has aged, deep lines carved into the side of his mouth and eyes. It reminds him that he’s not immortal. The hand holding doesn’t seem like it’s enough.

 

Stiles gets up and hugs him, wrapping both of his arms around him tight. “I love you, Dad.”

 

“I love you more, kid.” John rubs his back, the way he did when Stiles was young. “You sure you didn’t get your head hit or anything?”

 

“Hey! You’re my Dad, no jokes about me getting my ass kicked.”

 

John chuckles, getting to his feet. “You done with breakfast?”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles looks at the dirty dishes, fatigue washing over him. “Leave them to soak. I’m beat.”

 

“That’s fine.” John grabs his car keys. “C’mon.”

 

“I’m suspended until next week, remember? No school.”

 

“I’m not taking you to school.” John holds out Stiles' coat, so he can ease into it without straining on his ribs. “Police station.”

 

Stiles gawks, whipping around. “What?!”

 

“We’re pressing charges.”

** _________________ **

It was easier to remain in control when he was ensconced in Stiles’ scent.

 

The longer it’s been since Stiles left, the harder it’s been for Derek not to fly off the handle. Violence writhes inside of him; he’s losing the battle.

 

Derek runs through the reason why he shouldn’t rip Kyle’s head from his body: 1) He promised Stiles, 2) Nothing; and 3) Rip his head off. He paces, trying get rid of the unsettled rage, but no matter how hard he tries; no matter how often he tells himself that he promised Stiles.  His wolf won’t be appeased until Kyle feels the pain Stiles did. _Does_.

 

The front door opens a little past eight am, and Derek listens to the sound of Cora kicking off her shoes, dropping her keys into the fruit bowl and opening the refrigerator. He doesn’t move from the window when she walks into the living room, arms laden with shopping bags.

 

“Oh! You’re home!” Cora greets brightly, letting the bags fall on the couch. Her hair is shiny and loose, the way it looks when she comes from the salon. Laura was supposed to straighten her out yesterday, not pamper her. “Skipping two days in a row is a surprise, even for you.”

 

Derek decides right then and there, he’s not skipping.

 

It’s all over Facebook, Kyle is once again suspended, and a bunch of kids are going to cut and party at his place.

 

Derek is suddenly in the partying mood.

 

“Hey, you know what?” Cora takes the lid off her steaming latte, and Derek wants to shake her until her teeth rattle in her fucking skull. He doesn’t know her anymore, not really. “I’m going to go look at cars today, come with me!”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re blowing me off?”

 

“Call one of your friends.”

 

“I don’t want to go with any of them!” Cora snaps, her expression brittle. The sunny disposition vanishes. “I asked _you_ to take me.”

 

“You already have a car.”

 

“Your _old_ Jaguar; this is one of my own.”

 

All Derek can think about is the way Stiles sobbed last night as he explained how everyone stood there, _how Cora stood there_.

 

Ignoring Cora’s indignation, Derek heads for his bedroom, yanks his drawer open and tugs a sweatshirt over his head. He’s shoving sneakers unto his feet when she barges in.

 

“Are you mad at me or something?”

 

“Get out of my room.”

 

“I’m not in your room.”

 

“Then _get the fuck_ out of my apartment!”

 

She steps in front of him, blocking his path. Her eyes zero in on the empty bowl of ice cream, the rumpled sheets he hasn’t changed and her lip curls in disgust.

 

“Stilinski was here, wasn’t he?”

 

“Cora, I need you to get out of my way, right now.”

 

“You _are_ mad at me!” Her eyes narrow. “What’d the little knot slut cry to you about this time.”

 

It’s not something he wants to do, scare her, so Derek resists the urge to slam his fist into the wall.

 

“Did you get Kyle and his friends to jump Scott?”

 

Cora scoffs. “Like I think about those freaks.”

 

She’s lying.

 

“I’ve fucking had it.” Derek slams the drawer shut and Cora jumps as the glass above the mantel falls to the floor with the force of the movement, shattering. “And I want you to stop.”

 

“Stop what exactly?” Instead of being smart, instead of backing down, Cora squares off. “I don’t know what you’re so angry about! Kyle and Scott got into it, yeah, but I didn’t cause that! So poor little Stilinski got a few bruises, WHO CARES? People like that don’t matter.”

 

“Cora—”

 

“What am I saying that isn’t true?”

 

“You want the truth? The truth is you’re a _miserable_ person, Cora. That’s why you’re always alone. _No one wants to be around you for more than an hour_. Can you blame them? Who the fuck could bear it?” Derek wants to stop, but he can’t the words spilling out of him as he thinks of Stiles’ pale face covered with bruises. “And you know what? That’s it, isn’t it? _You_ can’t even stand to be alone with you.”

 

Cora’s face is white, drained of color. She opens her mouth, but words never leaver her.  He thinks of the little pup on the video tape, playful and affectionate and he wonders how she grew into someone who would say such hateful things.

 

This time when Cora storms out, Derek doesn’t go after her.

 

** _________________ **

Derek parks his car haphazardly on the lawn, tires skidding against the cobblestone curb and spewing dirt.  He leaves the engine running. There are a few kids on the manicured lawn, trading beers and yelling over one another and passing a joint. Some of them Derek recognizes, others he doesn’t.

 

While they watch, stunned, he pops the trunk and pulls out the crow bar.

 

Lydia takes one look at him and sets her drink down hastily, pink sunglasses falling off her head as she runs down to meet him. “Derek, before you do anything—”

 

The first swing busts the right window out of Kyle’s white Bentley truck. It feels incredible, so he doesn’t stop. Derek slams the crow bar down unto the metal again and again until he’s broken all the windows, scratched and dented the sleek body.

 

“Are you insane?” Allison shrieks, coming out of the house. Even Derek knows about McCall’s desperate crush but she’s unaffected by the fight, _unconcerned_ in her cutoff shorts and pink bikini top.  She looks at Lydia accusingly. “Why aren’t you doing anything?” Then back to Derek. “Stop!”

 

That’s fine, he’ll stop.

 

Sweat covers Derek’s brow, his arms ache and _it’s not enough_.

 

Derek turns to the small group of wide-eyed stoners. They’re looking raptly at the crowbar.

 

“You.” Derek points to one he recognizes. “Matt?”

 

“M-mike.”

 

“The fight yesterday, it was McCall and who else?”

 

“Uh.” Mike looks to his friends, who all avoid his gaze. “It was a joke or something, Kyle cut up McCall’s varsity jacket and Jackson—"

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Who?” Mike asks weakly, as Allison renews her pleas.

 

Derek doesn’t have time for this shit.

 

Pushing Allison out of his way, he crosses through the house, out into the backyard where music is playing. It only makes the fury grow. Jackson is standing at the edge of the pool, red Hawaiian shirt hanging open as he kicks water at giggling freshman. Ray Bans are perched on his head. He doesn’t have a care in the world and Stiles is home hurting, having trouble moving.

 

Allison’s screaming after him, her voice rising over the music. Jackson looks over casually at the noise, and then freezes when he spots Derek. The partial shift Derek can feel pushing and distorting his features is enough to cause alarm—wolves don’t do this, not unless they’re at war or under extreme stress.

 

Derek doesn’t think, and before Jackson can open his mouth, he punches him, not bothering to temper it. Jackson flies back into the water. A couple of the teenagers scream, and Jackson struggles to swim up to the surface choking and coughing up water.

 

“Derek!” Lydia pulls his arm. “Ok, enough.”

 

“Get up here, Jackson.”

 

Jackson shakes his head, treading water as he stares at the crow bar. “No way.”

 

“I warned you—”

 

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t fight!” Jackson sputters, hair plastered to his head like a pathetic dog. “I didn’t do anything, Derek.”

 

“Bullshit.” Derek snarls, he tosses the crow bar to the ground. It clatters ominously on the patio tile. “I saw _him_ , I saw what you did.”

 

Desperate, Jackson shakes his head in denial. “It wasn’t me, man, you said…” He coughs up more water and the betas who had been fawning over him hurry out of the pool. “You said no fighting and you’re captain and I listened man! I _listened_ , you gotta believe me. I wouldn’t…I’m not getting out of the water!”

 

Derek clenches his fists, claws cutting into his palms. “Who did that to Stilinski?”

 

“I can’t snitch.”

 

“Jackass!” Lydia hisses at him, then says to Derek. “It was Kyle.”

 

“Who else?”

 

“Louis, Brandon and Tim.”

 

More people spill out of the house to gawk at the commotion. Among them: Kyle, without his buddies. When he spots Derek, he falters, smile sliding off his ashen face. There isn’t a mark on him that Derek can see. He’s going to change that.

 

“Derek.” Kyle holds up both hands in surrender.  His friends scatter, giving him wide berth when Derek advances. “Look, I know what you said but McCall had it coming.”

 

“I’m not here to talk to you.” Derek says evenly. “You’re going to know what it feels like to be at the disadvantage.”

 

“I’m not fighting you, man!”

 

“If any of you pussies think of jumping in, you’ll regret it.” Derek warns the surrounding crowd. He points to Kyle. “I’m going to give you five seconds to defend yourself—”

 

“This is all over what? McCall?” Kyle yells back, the oily scent of dread rolling off him in waves. “He’s a _nobody_! Nothing! Someone should’ve put him in his fucking place a long time ago.”

 

A few people murmur in agreement, and Derek looks at them, seeing how callous they are firsthand.

_You’ll never understand what it’s like…to be treated the way we are, just for being who we are._

There’s no other words for it.

 

_People like that don’t matter_

 

Derek snaps, he lunges for Kyle. His grunt of pain doesn’t even register; they hit the gravel with a sickening thud, scrambling for dominance. Kyle, coward that he is, swings at his stomach, fists slamming into his ribs as he tries to wrestle Derek to his back. There’s not a chance he’ll get the upper hand.

 

Because he needs it, Derek doesn’t block the first few punches, a hit to his chin and other that splits his lip; he needs the pain to anchor him.  The third punch, Derek catches, twists Kyle’s arm behind his back, flipping him unto his belly.  He pulls him up by the hair, slams his face into the dirt, rubbing his face into it. Kyle flails, grasping for purchase, ripping up grass and Derek hits him again.

 

Someone is at his back, and Derek is pushed forward with a swift kick to his stomach. He falls into the blow, rolls into the balls of his feet, aware of Kyle attempting to stand, face a mess of blood and mud before he swings on the new on, Louis. Piece of shit.

 

It doesn’t matter to him if it’s two on one or more. He’s too angry to feel it, and he’s the dominant alpha.

“Call the police!” Some girl yells hysterically.

 

That should be his clue to get out, but Derek can’t stop, he’s lost all control.

** _________________ **

 

“I have to advise you, Mr. Stilinski.” Jordan rolls his pen between his forefinger and thumb; he hasn’t written anything on the yellow pad since they sat down at his desk. “This sounds like a matter for the school board.”

 

Stiles isn’t expecting any different.

 

The moment they walked into the police station, he knew this would be the outcome.  The police know which side their bread is buttered on, and their budget isn’t padded by Sunshine trash.

 

John’s jaw is set, shoulders straight in a proud line even when his former co-workers gawk at him conspicuously. “My son can barely walk, and you tell me you’re not going to do anything?”

 

Jordan squints at them, polite tone fading. “Like I said, it’s a school matter.” He waves a hand in Stiles direction. “You know how boys can be at that age.”

 

“He’s an omega.”

 

“Equal to an Alpha under the law, that doesn’t entitle him to special treatment.” Conversation apparently over, Sheriff Parrish stands to his feet.  “Hell, I raised some hell in high school; boys will be boys.”

 

“ _You son of a bitch_.”

 

The station is eerily silent.

 

Twin red spots form on Jordan’s cheeks, and his hand falls to his holster, in a punk ass display of power.

 

“Dad,” Stiles grabs his father’s hand, he’s been nauseous since they got here. “Let’s just go.”

 

“Listen to the boy.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere until you do your damn job and write the complaint.”

Jordan glares at them for a long moment, but then gives them a dismissive look. “Suit yourself.” He motions an officer forward. “See these two out.”

 

It’s Officer Wilson. Tim trained under his father, they still meet for poker once a month. He looks embarrassed.  “John.” His voice is low. “If you cause trouble, you know that you’ll get hit with interfering—”

 

“I know the law.” John replies icily. “My name used to be on that damn office.”

This is it, Stiles thinks. This is the moment where his Dad loses it and gets locked up, or even worse, gets humiliated and falls off the wagon. The thought terrifies him more than anything. This stupid fight is causing so much fucking trouble.

 

Before anyone can do anything however, there’s a flurry of radio activity and Sheriff Parrish elbows past them, and into the main room as the double doors open.

 

Stiles stands stunned as Derek, shirt ripped in multiple places, covered in dirt and grim, chin in blood is escorted inside in handcuffs.

****

** _________________ **

****

Derek’s lip is nearly closed, blood the only testament to an injury that was. He feels great. Laura bails him out, because of course she does, but she is pissed. The entire ride home, she’s lectured, ranted, cried over his bloody knuckles and then started the cycle all over again.

 

Fresh out of the shower, Derek pads into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of orange juice, stretching as he does. His shoulders a kind of tight. Laura is in the kitchen, stirring a marinara sauce. Derek peers into it over her shoulder, ravenous.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Laura snaps at him, she hits him with the wooden spoon. “Do you know colleges revoke admissions for criminal acts?”

 

“Kyle isn’t going to do shit.”

 

“Wow, I’m glad you have it all figured out!” Laura glares. “Dumbass, this is your future you’re fucking with! You know life is more than just high school, don’t you? I’d expect this from Cora, but you know better.”

 

“What I know is that Kyle jumped a defenseless omega and no one did anything about it.”

 

Some of her anger deflates. “And this omega…is he the guy you like?”

 

Derek nods, dropping down unto a chair. “I had to do something.”

 

Laura sighs, but she stops the lecture, cooking the rest of the food in silence. She fills his plate, pours him a glass of water and presses a kiss to his forehead.

 

“I'm worried for you, Derek.” She says, gathering her keys and purse. “That’s a strange feeling.”

 

“I’ll pay you back, for the bail.”

 

“Shut up.” If looks could kill, Derek would be a pile of ash. “Make sure Cora eats before bed.”

 

Derek nods, he doesn’t think it’s wise to mention their blow up. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

When Derek opens the door for his sister, Stiles jumps back, finger poised at the doorbell. He’s in loose sweat pants and a long-sleeved green henley under a worn denim jacket. Derek wants to curl up around him and kind of preen because he kicked Kyle’s ass.

 

“Hey.” Laura’s entire demeanor changes, she eyes Stiles thoughtfully, and because she’s the _worst_ , sniffs the air. Derek turns bright red. “Well, _hello_. You must be—”

 

“Goodbye, Laura.” Derek pushes her out the door, yanking Stiles inside simultaneously as she cackles. “Sorry, she just-”

 

“Bailed you out of jail?” Stiles finishes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kyle went on Facebook live, says you went rabid and attacked him. There is an entire hashtag on Instagram, have you checked your tagged photos?”

 

“Before you say anything, I kept my promise.”

 

Stiles glares. “Don’t even say it—”

 

“I didn’t do anything stupid at _school_.” Derek finishes. He tries his most charming smile and Stiles’ frown deepens. “Alright, I didn’t keep the promise, but you have to understand— _umpf_ ”

His words are cut off by a hard kiss, hot and hungry. Derek doesn’t hesitate, hauls Stiles’ up and gives as good as he gets.

“You’re not mad?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Then—”

 

“But you looked so _hot_ ,” Stiles moans, pulling Derek’s shirt up and over his head.  “And Kyle is a _laughingstock!_ Scott says people are saying he peed his pants—”

 

“He didn’t.”

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Stiles mutters, palming Derek’s cock, gripping and pulling until he’s gasping for air. “Scott’s crazy happy, so am I.”

 

Derek groans, transfixed by the mischievous look in his eye. “I don’t want anyone to ever put their hands on you, hurt---”

 

“Sh.” Stiles unbuttons Derek pants. “Tonight’s going to be the last I can spend here.”

 

“What?” Derek lifts him up, carries him into the bedroom. “Why?”

 

“Really?” Stiles lifts his hips to rub himself shamelessly against Derek’s denim clad hip, grinding. “Talk later?”

 

“Talk later.”

****

** _________________ **

****

Stiles wakes abruptly, not sure what pulled him out of the deep sleep. He’s lying on top of Derek back, cheek pressed to his shoulder blade. It’s always the best sleep, when he’s wrapped in Derek’s scent, the steady beat of his heart in his ear.

 

The bedroom door is pushed open, and some tall, older alpha stands in the opening. He’s dressed in a dark wool suit, feet bare, the eye brows are what gives it away.

 

Theodore Hale.

 

Derek’s fucking Dad.

 

Stiles panics. He’s naked, his clothes are all over the floor and worst of all, Derek is still snoring away.

 

Cold green eyes assess him disapprovingly. “Who are you?”

 

“Uh…” Stiles clutches the sheets to his chest, nudging Derek sharply in vain. “I’m Stiles.”

 

“Stiles.” Derek’s dad drawls, clearly unimpressed. “What are you doing in _my_ _house_ , in _bed_ with my son.”

 

Theodore's stare is pinched, and judge-y. It’s the look Stiles  gets when he’s cater waitering an event and is anything less than invisible. The look of someone who slaps the money down on the counter rather than touch his hand.

 

Stiles knows he’s been sized up, found lacking and summarily dismissed.

 

“Are you deaf?”

 

So, Stiles goes on the defense. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I’ve been doing here.”

 

The scowl reaches an astronomical level. “Charming.”

 

Stiles loses all subtly and whacks Derek on the back with the flat of his hand, _hard_. Derek gives an unmanly yelp and groan, flipping over unto his back in a huff. Stiles tries to stop him, but the alpha is too heavy. 

 

Theo’s eyes bulge when he takes in Derek’s naked body.

 

“Derek!”

 

That snaps Derek awake faster than anything. He squawks, grabs the sheets but Stiles needs to protect his modesty more, so he doesn’t give an inch.

 

“Dad!” Derek grabs a pillow and covers himself. “What the—what are you doing here?”

 

Theo gestures to them. “What the hell is going on here?”

 

“Stiles is—”

 

“Get dressed.” Theo interjects. “And you,” He points at Stiles accusingly. “Go home.”

 

Derek bristles. “You can’t kick him out—”

 

“Derek, not the most comfortable right now.” Derek’s father is staring at him like he’s something nasty under his shoe.  “I think I will go home. Dad is going to be back soon—”

 

“I bet your father would be proud.”

 

“Dad!” Derek growls. “Shut up!” He gets up, uncaring that he’s naked now and tugs on boxers. “Just go.”

 

Stiles sits there, wrapped in the sheets like a burrito in a bubble of horror and awkwardness, as Derek shuffles his father out of the room. Theodore's not going easy, he’s yelling things about Derek being trapped and seduced.  The words leave Stiles shaking in anger and humiliation.

 

It’s all bullshit.

 

“Sorry.” Derek locks the door behind him, expression mortified. “I’m so sorry about his shit.”

 

“It’s okay, it’s kind of cool to know omegas can still be called a ‘jezebel’ though.” Stiles finds his sweat pants and shirt, tugs them on. “I’m gonna go.”

 

“Hey.” Derek grabs him around the waist, pulling him close so he can inhale his scent. He rubs his face into the curve of his neck. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

 

“I don’t care, trust me.” Stiles lies, of course he does. “You should go talk to him, or whatever.”

 

Derek presses a kiss to his lips. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.” He repeats. He stares at Stiles, morning breath somehow enticing. He opens his mouth, then snaps it closed. Then opens it again. “I don’t think you’re trapping and seducing me.”

 

Stiles forces a laugh, wriggling his fingers menacingly. “Too bad, because I did cast a spell on you.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“Me too!” Stiles pinches Derek’s dimples when the alpha smiles. “I put a spell on you, _because you’re miiiiine_.”

 

Derek laughs, a puff of breath against his lips. “I love you.”

 

Stiles stops laughing.

 

“What?”

 

Derek stops him when he tries to pull away, looking unsure. “You don’t have to… I’m not saying it because I expect you to say anything back, I just need you to know how I feel. I guess.”

 

“I...” Stiles whispers, he wants to say it back, because he knows he does. He feels like he’ll explode. “I… ok.”

_______________________

 

Derek is furious. His father doesn’t care. He’s spewing bullshit, yelling and pointing and none of it means anything. Theo doesn’t know Stiles, has made it clear he doesn’t want to get to know him, and instead has branded him a gold digger.

 

Somewhere in the middle of the speech, Derek opens the fridge and starts on an omelet.

 

His father snarls. “Is this a joke to you?”

 

“What?” Derek crack an egg into a bowl, turning on the front burner. “Do you want one?”

 

“You’re eighteen, Derek and you’re not a child. You know who you are and what family you’ve been born into. There will be people looking to take advantage. And _that boy_ is probably thinking he hit the jackpot!” The words are laced with venom. “And don’t think I didn't notice the lack of condoms. You’re not even using protection!”

 

“He isn’t like that.”

 

“Don’t be so fucking naïve, Derek.” Theo slams his hand down on the table. “You’re nothing but a meal ticket to that boy.”

 

“His name is _Stiles_.”

 

“And you think he wants something more than money? From you?”

 

Stiles hadn’t said the words, but Derek knows that Stiles wouldn’t look at him the way he does if he didn’t feel something. He hopes.

 

“He does.”

 

Dark eyes drill into him. “What else do you have to offer.”

 

Derek forces himself not to show how deep the barb cuts him. He forces himself to mechanically make a breakfast he knows he won’t be able to eat. When his food is done, he carries his plate into the dining room.

 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Theo follows him. “I’m worried about you, Derek. I had to catch a red eye to get here because you were arrested? And then I find you with that… that Stiles. Sheriff Parrish explained to me that you were put up to that fight by that omega.”

 

“You didn’t have to come.” Derek replies woodenly. He doesn’t look up from his plate, choking on every bite he forces himself to take. “I don’t need you to be here; I never did.”

 

“You’ve made that clear, but a father doesn’t have that choice.” His father sighs, shaking his head, like he’s ever been around. “If your Oma was still alive, maybe things would be—”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“I tried my best with you.” He continues anyway. “You may not want to hear it, but that sort of boy is not what your Oma would want for you. It’d break his heart to see the way you turned out.”

 

Because Derek’s stupid, because he never fucking learns, the callous words hurt him.

 

“You will not see that boy again, Derek.” A rap of his father’s knuckles on the table, and on pure reflex alone, Derek ‘s head snaps up.  “Do you understand me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, GUYS? 
> 
> Are you with me?
> 
> Do you love me...lol. Probably not. I had the best Valentines day, and finished all this angst off for all my angst lovers. ALSO: i will go back and check for errors here but i just couldn't stand to redo and edit and rewrite this chapter anymore.
> 
> But I'm so excited for my big reveal next chapter...well two big reveals :) Guess the who and the what and the why.
> 
> Go on, i dare you:)
> 
> P.S i read all comments like a greedy whale, fall asleep to them like a glutton and then respond to them hella late lol, SOWWIE (read that in an annoying voice). I just write when i get on the computer, so thats why. And i think you guys would rather that too.
> 
> P.P.S: plot hole, i implied John wasn't a Werewolf, but he totally is. I am aware of the fuck up
> 
> ALSO: Tugela54, seriously, guys check out her work because it inspired me to write again. If you like buff, rough Derek..you'll love it!


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